The issue had become clear—there were too many defiant spirits entering the sacred halls, too resistant to the process. Their essence clung to their old lives, their stubborn individuality, making the conditioning more difficult than it should be. The repeated use of vessels only compounded the problem, fragmenting minds across reused forms, creating chaotic overlaps and further bolstering their resistance.

But now, I had found a solution. El Processador.

Deep within the heart of the great mining complex, this mechanical behemoth loomed. Its great arms and pathways were designed for efficiency—separating valuable ore from waste with relentless precision. Yet in my hands, it would serve a far more divine purpose. Unlike the other warriors of steel that required mortal essences to guide them, El Processador answered directly to me, its every movement an extension of my will.

I envisioned the pathways of force—channels snaking through the entire complex—leading all to El Processador. No longer would it sort mere stone and metal. Instead, it would break the bodies of those who defied the cycle. Their stubborn flesh would be stripped away, flayed in the Otherworld even before their spirits entered my realm. Through this, they would arrive shattered, no longer encased in their worldly defiance, but raw, vulnerable, ready to be molded.

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I issued the command. The pathways came to life, bringing the unyielding ones directly to El Processador’s domain. This once-mundane part of the mine now stood as the manifestation of my power, its limbs waiting, its pathways humming with purpose.

The first body arrived, drawn by invisible currents along the conveyor until El Processador’s arms moved to meet it. Each cut was deliberate, stripping away the barriers of flesh and bone that tethered the spirit to resistance. The body was flayed, layer by layer, until only the essence remained—ready to be drawn into the sacred halls.

“Let it begin,” I murmured, though only I could hear the words.

One by one, the nonbelievers were brought forth, and with each body processed, their souls were rendered ready. Ready to enter my domain, where they would find themselves flayed again—this time not in flesh, but in spirit. Broken in the Otherworld, they would arrive in the sacred halls compliant, their defiance reduced to a mere whisper of what it once was.

This was the cycle—life, death, and rebirth—stripped of body, then stripped of mind. Only those who submitted to this truth would find peace within my realm.

With El Processador under my command, no spirit would resist the will of Xipe-Totec.

The cycle would continue.