Post by El Muertos on Apr 3, 2020 19:24:03 GMT -5
...devils…
...monsters…
...heels…
...bad men doing bad things…
...what must be done will be done…
...only the strong witness the sunrise…
...the weak will live in permanent darkness...
Muertos is on his knees as if he is praying. The desert landscape dwarfs him. His arms outstretched daring the blazing sun to bake him alive. The paint on his face drips off down his clothes. The sun has only just started to set, the sky is alive with hues of red, orange and purple. Yet it’s still painfully hot.
...we must pay for our sins…
...we sacrifice for our wants…
...work for our needs…
...i am your slave…
...lead me out of the darkness…
...into the light…
...so i can kill it…
...amen…
Muertos stands and takes his time to walk across the desert. A lonely road cracked and sunburnt breaks the landscape in half. A taxi waits for the luchador on the side of the road. “Pain forces men to act on impulses. Actions we wouldn’t usually deem ‘normal’. Loss is that pain.” Muertos opens the back door of the taxi. “If no one is left to pray for you. You must pray for yourself. I like the desert. The emptiness should remind you how insignificant you are. Humbling. The light, not quite dark, not quite light. Many of us sit on that line.” He climbs into the taxi and it drives away.
______________________________________________________
four hours earlier
A frail old man watches out of a window. Outside his room crowds of people dressed in black tie slowly disperse in all directions out of a graveyard that surrounds the church. It’s a beautifully clear day. The old man turns expecting an answer to his question. Muertos is sat at his table.
Muertos: No, I must leave you soon. There is still so much that needs to be done before darkness tonight.
The priest takes a seat at the other end of his table. In front of Muertos lies five roses. Two red, two white and a black rose. He sits perfectly still almost studying the flowers. The priest seems troubled but calm. His small room is homely and free of clutter. Muertos is disturbing the peace but this church has seen far worse.
Priest: Why did you come here?
Muertos: Me encantó y hoy he perdido.
Priest: Pero allí las almas no están perdidas.
Muertos: Esta vida no los merecía.
Priest: Y el siguiente probablemente tampoco. Harán cosas buenas en la próxima vida.
Muertos: Los lloraré esta noche. Mañana celebraré sus almas.
Priest: Muy bien. Pero que mas estas haciendo?
Muertos slams his fist down on the table, insulted.
Muertos: YOU KNOW WHAT I AM DOING?
Priest: It’s been a long time since you started this….crusade….when will your nonsense end?
Muertos: You wouldn’t speak to my hermanos that have fallen like this?
Priest: LOOK AT YOUR FACEPAINT! You are a fool if you think this life is honourable to the souls of the lost.
He tries to bite his tongue, but can’t.
Muertos: They are not lost! I celebrate death and those who he has taken from me! Ellos viven conmigo siempre.
Priest: Don’t waste your time in this life. It doesn’t matter what you do for them son. They have already passed over. You ruin their legacy when you live an unhealthy life. This obsession that lives inside you is unhealthy.
Muertos bites his tongue. The old man has insulted him. He stands and collects his thoughts unable to let out a word. He picks up the black rose and tries to hold hack a single tear that runs down his face.
Muertos: The red ones are for the two we buried today. Dios acepte sus almas. The white ones are for two people I didn't know. They had a painful end at the hand of a devil that walks among us. Lost in a fire, the saints will not find them. Please pray for their souls priest.
He turns to walk out.
Priest: Son…
Without looking back the luchador leaves.
Priest: I’ll be praying a lot tonight.
______________________________________________________
three hours earlier
Clutching a black rose in his hand El Muertos watches a fellow mexican dig a hole. The small town is just behind them. The man has stripped down to his vest, the bright sun causing him to uncomfortably sweat. He seems stressed, emotional.
Muertos: Discúlpeme señor, i need a taxi. Are you….
Juan: I know who you are. I know why you have come. Death follows you. The priest hides it but I know who you are.
Muertos: I mean no harm to you amigo.
Juan: My dog….this morning.
He cries out incomprehensible words. He has no more words left to give.
Muertos: I will pray for your dog if you want me to amigo.
Juan: Do not waste your time on such ceremonies. Please just share some words. Here. Now. I have run out of words.
He shakes his head before throwing his shovel down into the dirt. He reaches out to hold El Muertos’ hand.
Muertos: Okay...The bond you had, a best friend, is eternal. This life is only a moment in our journey, and death is to be expected. Do not treat this pass over as an end. It is only the next chapter of a long journey. Please, amigo, live in the last memory of your best friend. And continue your journey in the legacy of the past over. Muero pero mi alma no muere los amare y los bendeciré en el cielo como lo hice en la tierra.
Juan only now notices the rose. A look of panic comes across his face.
Juan: You brought me a black rose?....
Muertos: Oh, no, amigo this is not for you. The priest will give you a red rose to pray with. This is for someone else. Devils walk among us. This is why I must ask you a favour, a taxi to an important place.
______________________________________________________
an hour a go
The taxi has seen better days. But in a small town that is mourning you can’t be choosy about your taxi driver. Jaun is still vacant thinking about his dog. Muertos is sat in the back of the taxi still clutching to his black rose. He takes no notice of the world outside the windows, only focused on the rose.
Jaun: This is far away amigo.
Muertos: It has to be a specific place. Un alma merece el dolor.
Jaun: Who did this to you?
Muertos: A simple man. An actor. He thinks he’s the bad guy, but I'm about to be the bad guy of his story.
______________________________________________________
thirty minutes ago
El Muertos walks towards the sun. It’s just begun to set but is still blinding. He falls to his knees and takes in the desert airs. The warm air hugging his lungs. The smell of wide open freedom.
Muertos: Para mis enemigos, planto la semilla del mal.
Holding the black rose tight with his free hand he starts to borrow a small hole in the sand.
Muertos: Bloodline. Ryan, Blaze, Reaver and Stylez. Tonight I will pray for your souls. Tonight I will mourn with my amigos, but I will mourn you. Because when I wake tomorrow, I will hunt each and everyone of you down. Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte will judge you. She will not be so forgiving to you.
Once the hole is just about deep enough he places the black rose into the ground.
Muertos: I offer a black rose up to the saint of death herself. It’s a token for Jason Ryan. All the hate and evil you have brought into this world will be judged. You may think you're a devil Jason but there are much scarier demons out there. Santa Muerte follows you. Watching. This black rose seals your fate amigo. She’s on the hunt.
He buries the rose under the dug up sand.
Muertos: The bloodline thinks the darkness is a joke. The darkness is not scary. That’s where we hide. The demons hunt in the light. If you live in the darkness, can see in the darkness, you can catch the demons devouring their victims. Jason, a man with nothing who has everything. Aaron Blaze is a tortured soul that wants the world to pay him a debt. Johnny Stylez, a fool, a child playing with fire. Simple men playing the part. Actors. Dogs chasing their tails. Unaware of what their prey truly is. They think they are the devils, but I have seen far scarier in the light. You can’t imagine what hides in the darkness.
The first to fall will be Soul Reaver. An ironic name. A demon that sits between our reality and the next world. Feasting on souls that don’t have enough spirit to carry them into the next life. Tomar nos hace enemigos mortales. I pray for the souls of the damned. I pray for Santa Muerte to find the lost and wandering souls that no other saint watches over. It’s sad to think that some don’t make it to the next life. It’s sadder for those soul reavers stuck in the middle with nothing to prey on than the runts that this life chewed out without a legacy. And that’s you amigo. The bottom of the heap, the lowest of souls. The pointless waste we push down into the darkness, to be lost, to be forgotten.
Or is it un jodido idiota name? Either you're a weak son of a bitch. Or you're an imbecile. You long to be forgotten whichever it is. A legacy that brings your ancestors shame. A weak name is what you have. You’re a big man but that’s all you are. You're nothing special no matter what words they're filling your head with. You should have become a football player, made millions and had a happy life, fool. You know nothing about souls, nothing about pain, nothing about the darkness that controls our lives. A man that looks upon reality with a black and white vision, like you, can’t comprehend the layers of power that keep our world whole. The saints, the sinners, the light, the dark, the good, the evil. It all exists for a reason. I’ll prove to you at Metal why. Por qué el mundo se maneja como está. I’ll hurt you Soul Reaver. In ways you’ve never been hurt before. But you’ll thank me, you’ll wake up the next day realising the darkness has poured light into your life. The bad has brought good to your door.
Don’t believe me ese? Ask Aaron Blaze how he feels. I laid my hands on your friend and changed him. I beat him. Don’t think being blindside by a judas truly hurt me. LA Stylez means nothing to me, friend or enemy. The weapons they used on me only hurts this vehicle, it can’t touch the soul. Neither can you Reaver. Scarier people have done worse to me. Aaron Blaze didn’t even need to sleep on my hurt for him to realise the lesson i had taught him. Ese gringo era demasiado fácil de romper. He went straight to the internet to tell the world how weak he is. How weak you all are. How weak Bloodline truly is.
You're only strong in numbers, amigos. Separately I’ll hurt all of you and feed you to Santa Muerte. Your pact is fragile. You’re no devils. You’re fools playing with fire. The first time Aaron Blaze got burnt he cried. How long until your leader Jason burns himself and the act all falls apart. Men with nothing to lose, nothing to be scared of, nothing but the world at your feet. Me estás haciendo esto demasiado fácil. Pride is a christian sin. Pride causes paranoia. Paranoia causes loss. Loss is pain. Real pain. And I will hurt you.
Now fuck off ustedes niños estúpidos, I have to pray for your souls.
