Chapter Seventy: Drowned in Darkness

Chapter Seventy: Drowned in Darkness

I couldn’t breathe through the First Emperor’s mask.

Cold obsidian stone pressed on my cheeks and jaw, sucking out the air out of my lungs and the warmth of my sunlight blood. Colder hands removed my clothes from my flaccid, pallid blue skin. I could hardly feel them.

“Do you know what godhood is, Iztac?” Iztacoatl asked me, her voice a pale mist slithering inside my ear. “True godhood is appetite.”

My body was slow and sluggish from the drugs coursing through my veins. I tried to turn my head and glare at the Nightlord, but my own skull felt so heavy and my lips so weak... I was a stone atop an unmoving hill.

“Shush,” Iztacoatl said. “No more singing, songbird. Keep your voice for the full performance.”

Her voice was so soft it could have lured me to sleep easily enough. The Nightlords didn’t give me that mercy. The four chains grabbing each of my limbs slowly pulled them, the occasional jolts of pain forcing me awake under a dark sky.

“I remember the days back when Father was a mere man rather than a god,” Iztacoatl said. “I believe he was freer back then. Happier. His power enslaved him, Iztac. It strengthened his hunger until it mastered him. Lust, bloodthirst, gluttony... no excess became too great for him. Every high had to be more extreme than the last.”

I struggled to follow her trail of thought. My mind was muddled by pulque, drugs, and spices.

“Father was always so possessive too. We were his precious treasures. I still remember the looks he sent me whenever I toyed with a village boy, but it was Yoloxochitl’s fiancé who bore the brunt of his contempt. She was his favorite, do you know that? The youngest, the romantic. He couldn’t stand the fact she would fancy a wastrel like that... Tloroc? Tlocan?” I heard a dark chuckle. “Whatever, Father killed him anyway.”

The taste of a young man’s blood formed on the tip of my tongue. I heard Yoloxochitl’s screams and sobbing prayers, and the sensation of flesh down my gullet. A memory that was not my own lingered at the edge of my consciousness.

“I think that’s why he bit us first. He couldn’t stand the idea that we could leave him, or that another could steal us away. He wanted to ensure we would be his forever.”

Iztacoatl’s eyes looked down on me, her vile smile obscuring the stars in the sky.

“Did you know Yoloxochitl was pregnant from her Darling when Father bit her?” I sensed her fingers pressing against my mask. “She miscarried, of course. Our immortal bodies aren’t meant to shelter life, only to devour it. I think that’s when she started losing it.”

A wave of shame and disgust washed over me from within. I saw a small, blackened thing crawling in a pool of blood, an abomination of my own creation.

No... I struggled to keep these intrusive thoughts out of my skull. I fought to keep my sense of self separated from another. Not mine...

“Father wanted to sleep with us,” Iztacoatl said, her mocking chuckle ringing into nothingness. “I used to tease him about it. Touch him in some places, invite mortals to couple with me while I knew he was watching, tempting him. I knew he hated those lusts and that it took all of his willpower to resist them. He was disgusted with what he had become, but the more he resisted, the stronger his urges became.”

Her sharp laugh cut through my ears, until I felt blood dripping down my cheeks.

“I couldn’t wait for him to snap,” she gloated with all the weight of her malevolence. “And one night, he did in the most unexpected of ways! He had four of his concubines brought to him, reshaped their faces into mirrors of our own, and then he took them.”

Her laugh merged with that of that hag Chamiaholom, who had told me this story first. I hadn’t connected the dots back then; why had I been forced to wed four consorts, when they were meant to represent the First Emperor’s own flesh and blood.

“You could say those four were the first consorts. Wives in the shape of his beloved daughters whom he refused to despoil any further; for we were the final refuge of his own decaying humanity.” Iztacoatl scoffed in disdain, she who had cast away all vestiges of morality in the name of her cruel pleasure. “Yoloxochitl’s actress was his favorite. It hardly took him a fortnight to impregnate her.”

“Enough,” Eztli’s voice cut through the vile words.

I heard a slap ringing through the chill air of the empty night. The stars had gone dark, and the moon began to fade away too.

“My sister was there when she gave birth,” Iztacoatl said. “Having miscarried herself, watching a woman with her face giving birth to her Father’s own son was... traumatizing, I suppose.”

“Shut up.” I heard Eztli beg out of my vision. “Please...”

Iztacoatl cruelly denied her plea. “I wonder if you will look like her once your mother gives birth too. I’m sure you will act like my dear sister did back then, greedily grabbing that child in your grief and longing.”

Her voice became lower, laced with smugness.

“You will claim it like she claimed you,” she whispered to Eztli beyond the range of my vision. “With your fangs.”

Eztli’s sobs tore out at my heart. If the drugs had allowed me enough strength to feel anger, I would have slapped Iztacoatl in the face in revenge. Alas, I could do little more than mumble incoherently with my back pressed against a floor of stone. Chains continued to stretch me thin until I heard my bones crack oh so slightly...

“It was then that we realized we didn’t need Father to make more of us.” Something cold grabbed my cock and caressed it. “Well, not all of him.”

Something stirred within my heart. A pitch-black darkness awakened, his crimson eyes glaring through the bars of his ancient cage.

“My sister Ocelocihuatl formed a plan. Blood for blood, she said. The sons will bind the father. She conceived a trap, which I executed. I lured Father in with so much fresh blood until he grew drunk on it.” Her laugh echoed again in the night, louder and sharper. “Can you fathom how much blood it takes to get a god of hunger drunk?”

I remembered. I remembered the frenzy of the thundering drums beckoning me into the shadow of a blazing mountain, lightning flashing, a plume of smoke rising into the storm-wracked sky. They came to me naked, a line of a thousand birds guided by my daughters into my waiting maw. I recalled the soft noise of their bones being crushed within my palms, blood and pulque dripping on my fangs.

I remembered the shame and guilt, the horror at what I had become, the disgust that my own clawed hands inspired in my heart, but I could not stop... I was thirsty, and the blood of men tasted so sweet...

“Then, when he was in the throes of his blissful addiction, we gently carried him to bed,” my daughter said, mocking me. “You should have seen him, songbird. How he kept saying he loved us, that he did it all for our sake. What a fool.”

I remembered the chains my daughters put around my hands and feet. Their links burned with words I was too drunk to recognize. I did not fight them as they led me to the altar, for I was too tired to think. I only wished to sleep and rest, to forget the pain of existing...

“It was always about power with us, long before your godhood,” my third eldest said. “We had it all, we obeyed you; and when we had a chance to rule in your place, we seized it.”

And then I recalled their twisted betrayal.

I struggled against the chains, my mask’s jaws snapping with anger. My heart burned with a sulfur glow and my lungs screamed with the rage of centuries past.

“Finally awake, are you?” my treacherous daughter taunted me. How I longed to snap her neck with these borrowed hands... “Good. We can at last put you back in your place, Father.”

“̵̢͉̜͈̐̓͛̿́̏́̏͊͌̕̕͝

Y̸̛̻̩̯͖̩̠̌̈̆̒ô̶̼͕̿͗̔͆̈͝͝ṵ̶̳̣̥̤͙̤́̎̈͐̓̀̄̔́̄̒͆̚̚͠r̶̛̬̎̈́͐̌̽̿̓̎̈́͌͑̈̕͝ ̸͙̱̜̳͖͔̭̥̜͈͈̼͍̿̇͌͐c̸̢̗̘͉̄̍̃͛͗͆͘͝h̶͎̤͚̱͋̔̈́̓̓͝͠ͅi̴̧̨̡̠͋̍ĺ̷̢̢̖̪͚͉͓̜̔̈́͂̅͐͝d̵̨̢͔̟̉ ̷̧̨͎͓̭͈̺̜͚̬̗̫̱͉͋̀̌̑̂͆̾̾̀w̵̢̖̜̳̣̗̜̝̘̬̲̩̥̖̐i̵̧̛̜̮̯͓̖̥̟̲͉̦͈̰̣̮͑̀͂̌l̴̢̢̛͍͙̬̪͎̫̭̯͙̰̤̇͂͗̆͒̉̾͗̾̚͝ͅͅl̸̡̜̮̤̲͎͎͉̻̝͎͕͛̏͝ ̸̲̦̘̟̮͚̱̠̘͖̰̤̬̿́͛͠ẅ̸̢̨͇̲̤͈͕̜͚̺̞̜̿̀̀̽͊̇̂͑̒͝ͅe̶͕̥̭̭̦̼̣͕̭̔̎̾̃̅̄́̌͜͠͠͝͝͠ä̶͈̣̮̫ŗ̶̛̛̪̪̟̘̼̜͓̩̳̘̻̫̉͌̒̆̓̀́͌̊̕ ̴̨̥̗̖͕͉̞͇̙͔̖̣̔͗̈́͊̎̀̄͗͊͂̎̐͘͜͜͜͠ȳ̴̢͎̘͉̜̙͉̹̭͛͛̓͂̎̉̕͜ơ̴̧̛̠̙͕͍̪͔̞͖̎̋̓̇̐͌͒̓͊̚̕͠ͅů̶̘͔͉̙̟̂̀̐͆́ŗ̸̛̤̩̮̟̿̈́͂̄̓ ̷̡̠̹̠̻̼͚̣̪̮̗̻̟̯͗̑͗̉̔̋̿̈́̀͜f̸̢̟̮̱̻̖̟͚͍́̀̽̓̈́̑̓̇̾̕ͅḽ̵̫̲̜̥̮͑͗̔͐̾̋̔͆̃͘͘̕á̸͇͈̙̜̭̼̩̱̠̝̎̓͐̎͗̈̇͂̾͆͊̍͑͋͜y̷̡̫͔̎̌͒͑̽͒̀͌̐͊͂ͅȩ̸̜͎̠̖͉͎̖̜̭̣͙͔̲̟͂̀̒̔́̓̍́̚d̴̢̼͎̏̔̀͂̓̾͆̓̈́͊̀̑͗̕ ̷̡̧̨͖͕͓͈̣͚̠̳̭̯͉̍͘ş̵̱̳͈̠̗̥͍̹̘̞̬̻̈́̅͐͗͆̓́͜͝ͅk̴̛͔͈̤̯̭̞̼͈̬̭̺̤͈̇͋̌͒͐̈̍̊͝ĩ̴̧̛̛͇͉̜̳̜̹̥̙͈̞̝̱̓͊̐̿͝n̷͚͎͈͈͓̤̲̖̥̈̒̎̌̿̋̑͑͆.̴̵̵̸̴̷̵̷̴̸̵̵̶̷̸̶̴̷̢̨̢̧̨̧̨̨̡̧̨̡̨̧̢̛̛͖͚̖̞̳͔̻̳̪͍̻̟͖̪̰̩͖̯̦̺̞̗̳͕̘͍̖̣̣͍̬̹̗͕̝̯̦̬̫̬̘̰̩̪̤̩͓̤̫̰͔̳̺̺̗̘͉̲̪̫͈͚͚̭̟͍̳̹̞̟̜̦͇̫̻͙̼͙̯͈̠̗̼̫͖͍͇̫̗̮̰̖̦̠̩̥͈͚̫̻̻͈̰̥̠͇̻͈̟̼̮̳͇̼̱̮̗̪̞̙̖̞͇̖͚̗̠͈̠̗̬̳̃̉̓̈́͌͂̎̿̈́̒̏̿̃͊̔͒̈́́̃̓́̆̂̋͑͑͊̐̉͂̈́̉̉̓̀̇̎̒͑̑́͗̿̑̄́̍̒̎̆͗̿̈́̈́̀͛̍̏̐̇͌̊̔̈́̀͊̌̀̓͑͂̋̽̋͑͛͂̉̓̓̏͊̂̄̏̊̑̍͆͐̑͊̈́̏̑͆̍̿̐͛͗̏͌̆́̈́͑̀͗͊͑̈̉̌̈́̀͘̕̚̚͘̚̕̕̚͜͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͠͝͠͝͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅ”̵̵̷̴̶̷̸̵̷̴̵̸̷̴̸̵̶̵̷̵̶̶̵̧̡̧̧̧̧̡̧̧̨̨̡̢̡̢̡̨̧̛̛̛̛͖͇͎͖̳͖̦̼̭̙̟̥̬̩͍̤̻̼̻͚̺͎͔̦̹̦͙̲̺̞̯̣̦̼͔͈̰͚̱̝̙̫̝͓̦̺̠͔͙̞̟̮̗̩͖̘͕͕̖̹̩̰̖̜̟̼̘̪͚͓͚͇̰̻͇͎̻̲̬̝̝͈͉͇̩̗͖̙̣̤̳̼̩͉̮̼̭̻͍̹̪̜̣̳͈̰͚͓͖̭̹̯͕̱͍͕̗̰͍͕͍̻̻̖̺̲̝̪͚̫̗͎̳͉̫̲̟̻̞͔͚͖͍̪̺̥͔̲̬̮̩͈̗͙̳̖̄͗̋̓́̏̂̇̑̒́̐̈́̒̔̽̌̀͛͂̇̀̈́̆͆̊̓̈́̀̊͒̏̍͋͑̀̐́̐̓̀̓̋̒͊̍̓͆́̔͂̿̔̇̉̏͒̀̇̆̿̈́̍͐͂̍̇̿̅͒̆͛͋͛̑͗̈́̓̽͐̐̉͆͂̈̊̏̋͂̓̒̆͒̏̽̍̐̑́̄̓͐͊͆̅̃͊̄́̂̃̈́̾́̒̊͒̏̓́̏͌̈́́̍̀̇̾̑̃̈́͗̔̔̅̚͘̚̚̕̕̕͘̚͘̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅ

I smelled it in the air. That delectable scent of fear, that creeping horror at the thought of lurking death. It only grew stronger as my true children circled us above us, a cloud of blood and fur on jet black wings. They used to demand blood and worship once.

Now I only craved silence.

“Are you in there, songbird?” my beautiful snake of a daughter asked my other self, the tyrant sun to my endless night. We were one tonight, united in spite and pain. “Then you will feel it too. What we put him through that night–”

“Enough, Iztacoatl,” Ocelocihuatl’s voice cut through the chatter. “Let us proceed.”

My jaguar’s words were as cold as my fury boiled with sulfur flames. She was the one who I loathed most. The one who led her sisters down the path of treachery. The one who learned almost all of which I had to teach her and whose gifts she turned against me, her own father, after I had saved her from that so-called god’s jaws!

How I loathed her! How I wished to skin her, to bite her, and drink her to the last drop of rotten blood!

I raged against the chains constraining our limbs, but my other self was too weak to free us from their sorcery and the drugs inhibiting our veins. My daughters’ shadows gathered around us, each of them holding one of our bindings. Yoloxochitl’s replacement held onto us with feebler hands than the others, her eyes weeping tears of blood, but it made no difference.

They were fools, all of them. The door would never close again. They could keep pressing against me for years, centuries, but I would not let them sleep soundly anymore. One night they would falter, and I would devour every single one of them. I would welcome my children back into my bottomless belly, where they shall never escape me again.

But that night was a long time away.

My daughters spoke words of power which I’d taught them once. My true children fled, repelled by my own stolen sorcery. We heard liquid dripping on a stone floor, black and viscous. My other self recognized the smell of the vile tar which he had seen flowing so many times underground, but I?

I remembered the pain.

“Burn!” my daughters chanted as the black tide crept upon us. “May your body burn like the sun, foolish father!

The tar swallowed us both, devouring our skin and flesh as I once ate so many others.

And we burned.

I died screaming.

I had already tasted the cold kiss of death once, so I knew I hadn’t merely been knocked out unconscious by the pain. Sleep wouldn’t have sent the message, wouldn’t have hurt their Dark Father through me the way they’d hoped to.

The Nightlords roasted me alive, like they cooked their sire once.

They boiled me in black tar until the flesh was stripped from my bones. They burned me to death until the sharp sting of agony overpowered the numbness of the drugs, and until the pain sank into my marrow.

My eyes blazed within their sockets. My vision became a shining light that pierced the veil between life and death, between existence and nothingness, between the past and the future. I saw a great golden condor flying under a blinding sun and above golden mountains, whose radiance was denied to me.

Brother, I thought, before recalling the last time I’d seen this bird. Inkarri?

Mother snickered in annoyance. “Your smugness is unbefitting of you, my son.”

“So you’re the one who put her up to it, Iztac?” Father shuddered. “Unfortunately, being dead limits the possibilities on my side. Your mother suggested a solution I am not comfortable with.”

“She wishes you to Ride someone above ground.” Of course Mother would do that. She was already working on a spell to transfer minds permanently, and she was more interested in mating with Father’s soul than his current vessel. “It could work.”

“See?” Mother said, immediately pouncing on the opportunity. “He understands.”

Father gave me a mortified look; quite the difficult feat to achieve when you had a skull for a face. “I do not wish to sleep with my wife in another’s body, Iztac. Your mother may call it a meeting of the souls and that it wouldn’t count so long as I was in control, but...” He shook his head in disgust. “It does matter to me.”

“That would be awkward,” I conceded. I wouldn’t feel comfortable making love to Nenetl while in, say, Tlaxcala’s body. “How about you both possess newlyweds then? I can think of two who would fit nicely.”

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing.” Father sounded angry for the first time in years. “How is forcing two people to have sex against their will any different from a rape? Except that in this case we would have two victims instead of one?”

Mother refused to give up. “Iztac is right though, we could possess an existing couple who has consummated their relationship. What would be the problem then? They would already make love without us Riding them.”

“They would not experience nor remember anything either,” I added. I intellectually understood his concern, but I’d used the Ride spell to kill my vessels, so using them for lovemaking sounded middling at best; hardly anything to get worked up over.

“Their bodies will experience it, and... it is a slippery slope. I fear it will become easy to justify stealing another man's life so that I may enjoy what I lost.” Father sighed and looked at his lifeless, skeletal hands. “I want to hold you in my arms, Ichtaca. I want to feel your warmth, I want to kiss you, and I want to be with you.”

His sincerity took Mother aback. If she wore her mortal body rather than her Underworld form, she would have likely looked quite flustered. “Then why are you being so difficult about this, Itzili?”

“Because I want to hold you with my arms, not borrowed ones,” Father replied before embracing his wife. “We will find a better solution, Ichtaca, but not this one. Not at any cost.”

While I remained ambivalent and Mother grumbled in defeat, my predecessors immediately supported his decision. “Your integrity honors you, Lord Itzili.”

“I am no lord, Your Majesties,” Father replied with embarrassment.

“You have the heart of one,” the Parliament insisted. “We have watched this world for over six centuries. We have seen too few good men with principles during this time, and fewer with the resolve to abide by them. Though some of us have indulged in the worst pleasures this world can offer, we all respect your decision.”

“I’m, uh... thank you.” Father respectfully bowed to the skull. “Your praise honors me.”

“Enough,” Mother grumbled while moving towards the door to her divination room. “Come with me, my son. We have little time to continue your training before your captors raise you again.”

“Will Your Majesty stay with me until they finish?” Father asked my predecessors. “I can set up a Patolli game for us to play in the meantime.”

“We must advise our successor for now, but we can split our attention over six-hundred ways,” the Parliament of Skulls replied with what could pass for enthusiasm. They had clearly taken a liking to my father. “Would you kindly create another vessel, Iztac?”

I agreed to the request, leaving one skull in Father’s care to give the dead emperors a reprieve from their monotonous existence and taking another with Mother in her divination room.

“Your father is so stubborn!” Mother complained the moment she closed the door behind us. “So unreasonable!”

I chuckled. “Isn’t that why he won you over?”

To my amusement, Mother’s behavior softened considerably. “Yes, it is,” she replied with a heavy sigh. “I simply wish he would be more flexible. The Embrace could assist me in my research to help return him to life, and I do not wish to share my bed with anyone else.”

For some reason, I found myself warming up a bit to Mother on the matter. While it annoyed me that she would only push Father to try it out after I’d shown her the spell’s potential, I was happy that she didn’t even consider doing it with anybody else nor forcing the matter on him. I was starting to believe that her feelings for him were indeed completely genuine.

“I would love to share thoughts on Seidr,” I said. “I have been experimenting with it lately, and I formed a surprisingly strong bond with Nenetl.”

“Nenetl?” Mother asked in confusion until she recalled the name, at which point she grew curious. “Ah yes, your Nahualli consort. Did the Embrace spell behave differently with her?”

“I think it did, yes,” I confirmed. “Our connection was... intense. It was like we were a single soul sharing two bodies.”

“Odd,” Mother replied. “You said her totem was the wolf? There is no special association between her totem and yours.”

“It could be love,” I replied with a chuckle. “I am very fond of her.”

The past emperors remained skeptical. “We suspect there is more to this, our successor. Remember the White Snake’s reaction. She would not rejoice over you and your consort finding love unless she meant to destroy it.”

“True,” I conceded. “She called Nenetl the moon to my sun. I am uncertain what this means.”

Mother didn’t say a word.

I waited for her to comment on the matter, but she simply stared at me silently for a while. I found her blank expression quite unnerving.

“How old is this Nenetl?” she asked me suddenly.

What an odd question. “Around my age?” I replied with a frown. “Maybe slightly younger, I think. Why?”

“I am merely curious,” Mother replied with a shrug that looked... faked. “What is she like?”

Her question surprised me. “Very kind,” I replied. A smile would have formed on my lips if I had any left. “Much like Father.”

“I see.” I caught a strange glint in Mother’s eyes, though I couldn’t identify its nature. “You should stay away from her. Practicing Seidr with a fellow Nahualli might have unforeseen consequences that risk alerting the Nightlords to your true potential. Growing attached to her will only give your enemies more means to pressure you.”

Her concern sounded quite reasonable, but I was starting to know my mother; enough that I could smell a lie.

She was hiding something from me. Something that concerned Nenetl.

Should I push for details? It was only a hunch, and I doubted Mother would remain silent if it was anything truly serious. It did arouse my curiosity, however. I decided to play the fool and stay quiet for now.

I would have other opportunities to find out later.

“Let us discuss more productive things, my son,” Mother decided. “What have you witnessed in the House of Bats?”

“Carvings,” I replied. “Who was Camazotz, Mother?”

“The cruel bat god who once ruled Xibalba.” Mother tilted her head to the side. “So you have reached the same conclusions I did.”

“You believe that the First Emperor is the man from the carvings?” My predecessors inquired. “The moon brother?”

“Evidence would point that way,” Mother confirmed. “I have researched this Camazotz and interrogated the ancient dead on the matter. According to them, he used to be a god of bats and terror that lurked in Xibalba and terrorized mankind all the way back to the Fourth Sun’s dawn.”

“He was a Lord of Terror?” I asked before quickly excluding the possibility. “No, it cannot be. He would have been bound to the city otherwise.”

“As a god associated with the bat totem, I suspect that Camazotz could move freely between the realms,” Mother replied. “A monster that could torment both the living and the dead, and who would have no equal in a world where most of his surviving brethren perished to raise the Fifth Sun.”

“In this case, we can assume that the First Emperor likely consumed him during his ascension,” my predecessors said. “In doing so, Dread Yohuachanca usurped control over their shared totem and corrupted it. A bat consuming another for supremacy.”

“That’s the source of the vampire curse,” I muttered to myself upon piecing things together. “A corruption of the totem choosing its Nahualli incarnations.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Mother replied with uncertainty. “The process of how the First Emperor usurped Camazotz’s role remains uncertain. We’ll need the remaining codices to confirm our assumptions, and I couldn’t extract any more information from the Lords of Terror.”

I would have to inform her about those demons’ power play, but a more urgent matter occupied my mind. Namely, Ezlti’s fate.

“Do you think the vampire curse stains only the Teyolia?” I asked Mother. “Or would it stain the Tonalli too?”

“I would assume the curse most focuses on the former,” Mother replied. “While the lesser Nightkin turn into bats to a fault, the Nightlords have retained their original totems in spite of having been claimed directly by their godly sire.”

I nodded sharply. “I had that hoped it would be the case. I would assume that your soul transfer spell project would focus on overwriting the Tonalli of another?”

Mother studied me carefully. “Do you have something on your mind, my son? I recall that you showed distaste at the idea of using the spell.”

“For my own sake, most certainly,” I replied. “If I remember, you said that it would require a strong spiritual connection between the participants? Would an actor and its replacement suffice?”

My predecessors were the first to catch on. “You are thinking of your consorts.”

“My former consort, Eztli, is having her mind slowly being taken over by her predecessor, and her body tainted by the vampiric curse.” A smile stretched on my lips. “I would like to offer her soul a fresh start... in a new skin.”