March 2027
[Follows from this post.]
— Unknown Philosopher, ca. 219 C.E.
A floating body was thrown lifelessly into the face of the sharp, jagged cliffs west of Tiwanaku's port and harbor installations. It fell off back into the ocean until the current again slammed it against the wall of almost solid rock as it would a limp doll. A hand caught the body by the arm before it slid back into the water and slowly pulled it up to safety.
The hand belonged to a soldier clad in black armor. He turned his head to another soldier, hanging from the cliff just above him and to the right, and then dragged the body up and over his shoulder. It was a quick climb up to the slim, dark mouth of a cave, black shadows quickly engulfing whatever rays of light did manage to penetrate even somewhat into the opening. Below them, where they had just been, the crest of a late-born wave roared as it smashed violently into the rock with an explosion of white spray. It was met with the noise of gunfire and the bass-like rhythm of the artillery and aerial bombardment coming from the city.
Just inside, a machinegun darted in their direction and then back again, until it finally settled into its default slow sweep from side to side. They paid it no mind as the one soldier dragged the body farther inside, limp legs leaving a winding trail of displaced dirt. Near the gun nest was something else on a bipod, although it could not be called a weapon. It was a telescope of some sort and it too was automated, turning from side to side much like the gun, but at a much wider angle, as it swept the waters that led into the port. Next to it was a thin table sitting atop was looked like some of pad wrapped in a thin red light. Small antennae rose up from it like antlers, each wrapped with metallic coils near their tips which seemed to match similar protrusions extending from the telescope-like device and the unmanned machine gun. If it had been dark near the entrance, a moonless night would be like daylight to the depths of the bluff-side cavern.
Not even a reflection betrayed the two men as they went on as if light, or lack thereof, was no barrier to their journey. They seemed to know the way quite well.
Finally, after some time of traveling through the twists and turns of the cave's many pathways, they arrived at what can be described as a clearing. A small fire, around which sat two other men, illuminated a palisade of stalagmites around them, large formations of which were carved apart only by narrow corridors through which one could walk. Hundreds of stalactites and other drapery came down to only a few feet above their head like fangs. The two around the fire looked at the two coming in, and then one rose to help the soldier with the corpse it had just brought in.
The two who had already been there were stripped down to their boots and gray heavy combat jumpsuits. The one holding the body laid down by the fire and then started to inspect it, placing his fingers on the carotid artery and his left ear on the chest. While he did that, the ones who had just come in began stripping off their power armor besides makeshift workstations composed of chains hanging from anchors that came out from the rocky walls like steel beaks.
"Holy shit, this one is still breathin'," said the one inspecting the body, suddenly.
The soldier who had pulled out of the water grinned. "I fuggin' knew it." This brought an eye roll from his partner, who was stepping out of his suit frame. "I had a gut feelin' that this one was alive. Jonas here wanted me to leave it floatin'. Somethin' about the way he rolled off the cliffs tho' gave me a feelin'. It's a good sign when their skin and muscles don't slide off the bones when they hit the rock, at least." He gave a look to his partner, who returned an expressionless stare.
"...No need to go into detail," said the other man by the fire with the look of a lack of amusement on his face, who had moved to kneel by the body...the person lying on the cavern's hard, dirt flooring. In his hand was a small device that he used to puncture through the unconscious person's skin until a needle threaded its way into one of the veins traveling down the limp arm. There were a series of beeps in quick succession as the machine went through various operations until the screen flickered to display a profile of the person based on the taken blood sample. "Well, well, it looks as if you've captured a prize. Kabos Ern Dardel, regulares, 217th mechanized division. Deathstalkers. We got ourselves another combat man...if he wakes up, that is." He took another look at the body and then another glance at the readings on the device in his hands, adding, "As doubtful as that may be, under his present condition."
"His condition is not our concern," interjected the one kneeling nearby. He looked at the two who had just taken off their armor. "You two will have the honor of taking him to Kula'kuladin tomorrow. They'll take care of him there, or he'll die."
Tlaloc, Theohuanacu
March 2028
[Follows from Tlaloc-related events in this post.]
— T. Xochitl, The Tragic Continent: A History of Theohuanacu (2056 C.E.)
She placed her hand lightly on his. "I must confess, this evening has turned out to be quite lovely, Mateo," she said, almost in a gentle wispher. Her lips were as red as her nails, and he smiled at her.
Mateo looked into her big, beautiful green eyes which shined and sparkled like two emeralds. His stomach felt like a pit that felt at the cusp of unknotting, but for some reason never quite did. He could not but help to glance at her ample bosom, but if she noticed she gave no hint of knowing or caring. Mateo could not say to be in love, because he loved all women. She was special though, maybe even the one he finally settled down with...although he said that often.
They sat in a small, rustic café on the corner of Dovín Yaoyapla, sitting at a small wicker table beneath a red awning that somehow seemed to blend in with the others, forming a ring around the plaza and broken up only by two intersecting avenues. In the middle, around which a perpetual flow of traffic seemed to flow like a roaring river, stood a chilling marble statue of Yaoyabla, Queen of Fortune, Goddess of Bounty, bound in chains and tossed upon the ground. Three small, golden bronze, winged Tatxahuapalo[1] lay chained alongside their queen, their heads a portrait of tragedy and despair. She looked, eyes locked in terror and mouth agape, at something hidden or just out of sight. Shackled to it, Yaoyabla lay on upon a jagged-surfaced pedestal encircled by water and out of the marble walls spouted water from the mouths of long, exotic fish with fanciful fins, tails, and whiskers. They too were made of bronze, and they were matched by brethren that frolicked in the pond in between, shooting streams that crisscrossed the others to make a complex weave of water.[2]
Dovín Yaoyapla radiated history, its buildings from a time dating prior even to when the plaza was known as Black Tides Square. The colorfully plastered façades of the buildings that loomed around it showed their character through elaborate wood trimmings and wrought iron balconies, with stunning windows and doors made of wrought iron, some perhaps three centuries old. These had been the dwellings of the rich pirates prior to the Taming. Now they were the dwellings of the rich, period. The fountain was new, but Dovín Yaoyapla and the neighborhood around it represented over five hundred years of history — the story of one of the most stunningly cultured and civilized corsair enclaves to ever grace mankind.
It made for quite the location for a date. That fact was of course not lost on Mateo, who gazed into the woman's eyes. She looked like she was in love. He looked as if it was the first time he had felt it, but it was genuine. Turning his hands under hers so that their palms were pressed together, he said, "Have I ever told you the story of how my father met my mother?"
"No, you never have," she replied, eyes wide with a gorgeous smile.
"I remember the first time they told me, long ago when I was a small child. It was in the summer and we were sitting outside, sitting on a blanket and having a picnic in a small clearing in the jungle. Mother had packed jam, butters, and the sweetest, softest bread that melted in your mouth. Did your family ever take you campaign, Tesora?" She smiled and nodded. "There had been a storm not a week before and the rainforest was lush. I remember mother recounting to me how they had met at the Gardens of Ignacioliuigi and how from when they had first locked eyes that day mother had known that she loved him, and father that he loved her. I could see how they looked at each other that day, I could feel the vibrant tension of love, and that amazing moment remains forever etched in memory."
"How beautiful," she said. Her grip on his hands tightened. "A love of that kind is worthy of envy."
Mateo's gaze seemed to pierce into her soul. "You are an incredible woman, Tesora. Being around you brings so much pleasure." He fell silent and they looked at each other, in love much like his own parents were. "I hope I've swept you off your feet as much as you have mine," he said as his face and hers came together towards a kiss—
—the stone, plaster, wood walls of the building behind them rippled until it settled, only to explode into a million shards of glass and debris that cut like knives and burned like fire. Skin peeled away from muscle as it melted beneath a heat that felt akin to that of a thousand suns, faces distorting in horror as men, women, and children reacted in the brief second they had before their lives were forever extinguished. A chunk of rock, or stone, whistled through the air until it struck Mateo in the side of the head. He fell from his chair and smacked the pavement, upon which he was unconcious if he was not already. Blackness covered his eyes and he drifted away...
...and he awoke in hell.
It was his hearing that came back first, although the sound of gunfire was if distant and from nowhere in particular. As his vision returned, first blurry and only gradually sharpening, Mateo saw Tesora lying next to him. Her eyes were wide open, but those big emeralds had lost their sparkle. Blood covered her forehead and dripped down onto her cheeks and from out of the corner of her mouth.
"Tesora," he whispered. He stretched out his arm to shake her body, but she did not respond. She was dead. What had happened? What was going on? Tears streamed down his face as he turned his head to look around him.
He could not see much of the dovín beyond the fountain. Yaoyapla, her arms and legs still chained to the white, marble pedestal, had been decapitated in a gruesome manner. Dirt and dust shrouded the statue, as it did much of the rest of the square, like a thick fog that clung to the rubble strewn about. Cars had been overturned Mateo thought, as he could see what looked like the bottom of a vehicle that had been overturned onto another one. The gunfire persisted although he could still not tell where it was coming from. The flashes of light that perturbed the curtain-like cloud of ash and debris he did not register for what they were, and neither did the screams that echoed off the walls of the avenues that led away from the square, as he looked on in shock and amazement. A man stepped out from the fog, armed with a rifle and garbed in militant clothing, but he did not seem to notice Mateo there as he fired into the distance.
That is when Mateo noticed the first drops of blood falling from his chin and onto the floor. He looked down at the small puddle forming below him, as if wondering where all that blood could possibly have come from. He did not seem to notice the hole that a piece of debris had carved into the side of his head. No matter, he soon fell unconcious again anyway and this time he would not wake back up.
Xipatl Chi, Theohuanacu
October 2027
— Guus van Meijer, A Long Journey Through Death (2033 C.E.)
High above the adobe-colored ceramic shingles of Xipatl Chi rose the stepped Temple of Tayapocal. Its base was by far its tallest element. Along the perimeter of the bottommost story, there were horseshoe-arch-framed doors leading inside, although one's eyes were more quickly drawn to the massive stairways that flowed as a river forked in three directions from a domed quadrifrons with tall and stout stone columns with elaborately carved and painted capitals. The pillars themselves were intricately ringed with spiral depictions of ancient battles, dark age raiding, and executions, all and more recording the mythos of Tayapocal, god of war. The three stairways disappeared through horseshoe archways, to reappear behind the structure and rise toward the main chapel, which sat on a high plateau with a great stone table before it. The temple structure sat on a three-step marble podium and its front was guarded by a half-moon colonnade. A tiled, niched, and mosaiced concrete dome that the chapel wore like a hat was topped by a bronze figure of a chained slave in fright, looking up to the sky in fear and as if about to be smitten by the war god himself.[3]
Guus van Meijer smiled as he appreciated the irony of it all. Around him, a storm of people garbed in light, white hazmat suits hustled around the temple and through small, narrow streets that navigated the ocean of apartments and housing for temple workers. They once did, at least. The blood smeared across the walls and it trailed on cobblestone pathways into the buildings themselves. Fitting was the fate that befell the priests of Tayapocal.
The detective studied three bodies strewn across the broad, paved street that separated the temple's base from the housing complex. They were not the only bodies, but they were the three that had caught his attention. Around him huddled three other police officers, whose relaxed dressing standards and the way they deferred to van Meijer gave them away as junior detectives. Two of them stood, while a female detective was crouched down alongside the boss. All of them were inspecting the corpses. "Foreigners, all three of them," she noted aloud. "And all of them with similar tattoo patterns, similar symbology, to the other bodies."
Van Meijer, who wore a tan fedora with a wide cattleman brim, nodded. Without warning, he rose and moved on, following a shallow tributary of blood that led him and the group he led into the dark, paved pathways that took laborers from the temple to the maze-like innards of the residential complex. The dead were bountiful, and too many wore the grey, black, and red robes and tunics of temple staff.
The sun barely reached them over the tall, tiled rooftops of the apartment blocks that rose to either side of the narrow roads. Wall-mounted artificial lights provided illumination for the countless of workers in their face-masked and head-to-toe plastic-like protective suits, which moved quickly this way and that to slowly clean the crime...no, battle scene. That's what it was, truly. The detective stepped over a body that hadn't been bagged and taken yet — there many of them, and they all had to be investigated first, of course —, only to halt with so much suddenness that the triad of juniors behind him desperately struggled to not walk into their boss. his eyes almost instinctually honed in on a cluster of four dead who had fallen against the wall and then fallen into a clump. Pockmarks and holes decorated the wall in broad strokes, but his vision quickly focused on the four dead — no, there were five.
At the bottom of the pile of corpses, below the four dressed as a civilian, was a shirtless man with a torso painted in black and blue tattoos. The others hustled to help the detective move some of the bodies. Their hands must have felt moist from the latex gloves they wore. "This one has symbology similar to the others," said the woman, who had taken initiative in inspecting the body of the dead warrior. "He's a local, though."
She pulled the cadaver's jaw down and used her flashlight to look into its mouth. "Pirate, telling from the abysmal dental hygiene."
Van Meijer nodded. They had seen others like this one before. They had been particularly brutal with the temple staff, willing as they were to use them as human shields as the fighting went from path to path, apartment to apartment. He gritted his teeth. He had seen the bloodbath first hand, another scar slashed across his memory. The other two men said nothing, and, for a while, the detective stood silent. "So, we were right," he said, finally. "The bastards are gathering an army."
"Dead now," commented one of the other junior detectives.
He eyed the man warily, but then turned his attention back to the dead man. "What do you think, Detective Nuhatal?"
Her light gray eyes betrayed her as a local with a 'northernized'[4] name, stemming from Nahuatl, a name with ancient, but forgotten roots. Since time immemorial it had always been the colonists or the corsairs who enforced and exacted justice, and often injustice, but the annexation revealed new opportunities to the true, native Theohuanacan people. Van Meijer was and old school bone-deep Zealander, but he appreciated the fresh talent. She was certainly better at her job than the two men, whose conversation he found stale and uninspired. Whatever merit he saw in her did not show though as he looked at her with a face of stone.
She shook her head. "Most of the armed dead are corsair youth, or slum-youth playing at corsairs. Most, but not all." Nuhatal looked at them and asked, "Did you notice how the foreign ones were better fighters? They were better trained, and according to preliminary blood reports heavily intoxicated — hard drugs. Their recruits were as well, but they seemed to handle the dosage better."
"Recruits?" asked one of the other two men, incredulously. "You think the foreign fighters recruited the pirates?"
"Yes." Van Meijer's voice was stern, as he took the reigns again while giving the one who had spoken a flat stare. "They were better trained. Wherever they learned how to fight, it wasn't from these damn pirates. I reckon you are right, Nuhatal," he said, "whoever these foreign fighters are, they're the key. Who are they? Why are they here? I want answers." He didn't say it, but he could feel something by the easy pain that swelled in his bones, as if they were foretelling bad weather.
There was something else the preliminary blood reports had shown, something that they hadn't talked about. The foreigners were Gothic.
[1] Large bird of prey native to Theohuanacu and revered by local mythos
[2] The statue is different, but it's inspired by and is a cross between these two styles: Dying Gaul and Fountain of the Dragons, with the fish inspired by these from the Fountain of Neptune, but more eastern in style still and made of bronze.
[3] Temple architecture is inspired by the Pyramid of the Niches and the Ziggurat of Ur, and the dome by Hindu architecture and Brunelleschi's Dome.
[4] Latinized would be the more proper OOC term, but 'northernized' refers to the fact that the analogues of latin languages in central Greater Díenstad are concentrated to their north, by whom Theohuanacu was eventually colonized for some time.