Revolutions

98 - Tlexnín

With a war cry that thunders across the battlefield, I drive my spear downward, cleaving through the armor of the enemy before me. Another invader collapses, his eyes widening in disbelief, mouth agape, as he grasps the finality of his defeat, as they always do. The copper scent of blood and the cries of the dying surrounds us. Some of my foes muster the strength to resist, their jaws clenched in futile defiance as they try to ward off the embrace of oblivion. Others plead, their voices cracking as they bargain for a few more desperate breaths. A few resign themselves to their fate, their expressions solemn as they prepare to meet Tlaloqa, the god who presides over the nine levels of the underworld. And there are those who curse me, spitting venomous words, praying their vengeful gods might smite me where I stand. Yet their efforts are in vain. They fall one by one, defeated by the hand of the one the Itztecatl chose to be leader of the Ulxa, ordained to restore her people to their rightful glory.

I seek out my next target, the next enemy that must meet the tip of my blade. These foul scum must be eradicated. There are shamans who remind me frequently of my mistake, a decision I have come to regret, though I will never confess this to anyone. I should have never allowed Xaqilpa and his kind to leave Ulxa. I should have never allowed them to live.

There is no use dwelling on this now. After battling the profound malady that once shackled me, I am reborn. My once-shallow breaths now roar with vigor. It is with this rekindled spirit that I must rise, casting down those who dare stand against the tide of my resolve.

In the distance, enemies in gray robes regroup at the edge of Analoixan. I call out to my warriors, "with me! More invaders by the entrance!" With a deafening yell, my warriors sprint full speed toward our foes, weapons held high and proudly in the air. We race through the devastated streets, a gut-wrenching sight that fuels my rage. This blight on our land must be vanquished.

The invaders are immediately overwhelmed by our ferocity. Those in gray robes put up little resistance to our attack, fleeing to save their miserable lives. My warriors in Ulxa black and red easily overpower them, viciously swinging their obsidian swords and quickly cutting down the remnants of the forces of our enemy.

The invaders are immediately overwhelmed by our ferocity. Those in gray robes put up little resistance to our attack, cowering and running away from us. My warriors in Ulxa black and red easily overpower them, viciously swinging their obsidian swords and quickly cutting down the remaining forces of our enemy.

As we advance, the clash of obsidian against bone resounds through the smoke-filled air. A few call out to Eztletiqa, seeking His mercy, but they will find no clemency here. Each swing of the macuahuitls is precise and lethal, leaving behind a trail of fallen foes whose lifeblood seeps into the sacred soil of Analoixan.

To my right, one warrior rapidly ducks under a swung club. Her counterstrike severs the tendons of the knees belonging to her assailant. He collapses with a yelp, and with movements as fluid as the great rivers that carve through our lands, she finishes him with a calm, practiced ease, slicing his throat with a swift swipe.

To my left, another warrior leaps high into the air. His macuahuitl crashes down onto the shield of an enemy with such force that it shatters upon impact. The cultist beneath cowers, offering up his arms in futile defense as my warrior delivers an unhesitating end.

My eyes sweep over the field, noting how the remnants of the enemy scatter like chaff before the wind. Our formations are unbreakable, our steps unhindered by fear. We move like an unstoppable flood over the land, washing away the filth that dared to encroach upon our home.

Amongst the chaos, I spot a young warrior, her face painted with the sacred symbols of war. She drives her spear through the heart of a cultist, marking her face with the vibrant red of victory. His gurgling cry is cut short, lost in the roar of our collective battle cries. Around her, our warriors raise their weapons in salute. A wild cheer erupts from their throats as they witness the fall of more enemies.