In front of thousands of soldiers stood two warriors, what is assumed to be the commander and vice commander. Both wearing armor only protecting his vitals along with a feather headdress that ranged from color from the base to the tip. In order to combat their enemies they have adopted foreign armor and weapons but their pride refused to let go of their cultural aspects. The leader unsheathed his sword.
“DON'T LET THOSE PALE BEASTS THROUGH!!”
“AAAROOOUUUGGGHH!! AAAROOOUUUGGGHH!!”
His soldiers chant simultaneously.
“WE CANNOT NOT AFFORD TO LET THEM REACH THE CAPITAL!! SINCE THE DAY THEY APPEARED!! WE HAVE LOST THE RIGHT TO OUR LAND, THEY DROVE US OUT!! WE RAN LIKE COWARDS BUT NO MORE!! TODAY, WE DIE WITH HONOR!! TODAY IS OUR LAST NIGHT!! FOR OUR NATION, FOR OUR PEOPLE AND FOR OUR FAMILIES!! WE FIGHT TO THE LAST MAN!! AATTAACK!!”
“AAAAAAHHHHH!!”
The deafening battle cries echoed throughout the pitch black night.
_________________________________
It was midnight and the moon was nowhere to be found. Only the stars made their presence known. A few soldiers in armor kept watch around the camp. The air reeked of booze. Two Spaniard soldiers sat across from each other.
“Another win for me. Looks like the goddess of luck is on my side.”
“Fuck this.”
The man threw his cards on the ground.
“Care for another game?”
“No. You stole all my money.”
“That's too bad.”
The man grinned as he put the silver coins he had won into his pouch.
“That's a giant star isn't it?
The man directed his finger at the sky.
“Sure is.”
“....”
“Is it… coming closer?”
“Nah, you had too much to drink.”
The man glared unconvinced.
“No. That's.. That's not a star!”
As the “star” neared itself to them, the outline of fire could be seen. It was a high altitude spell cast from a long distance. The sheer size of the spell made itself seem like a collaboration between magic casters or even worse it came from a powerful individual.
“Quick! Sound the bell!”
The soldier had no time to react. By the time he managed to land himself on his two feet, the spell had made contact with the earth.
BOOM!
The shock wave shoved any soldiers and tents out of sight. The whole ground below them shook violently. Luckily, the spell wasn't aimed with precision and only a portion of the crater left its mark on the camp. Any man left that wasn't dead were forcibly woken up and scrambled to find any equipment on the dirt.
“AAAAAAHHHHHH!”
The cries of battle could be heard emerging from the shadows of the closest remaining trees. Waves of men began to engage in combat. Any Spaniards who were injured were the first to fall, the ones unscathed got overwhelmed. Even if they blocked a sword they were met with another one to the back. Spells were abundant throughout. Some begged for mercy, their injuries were too severe before or during the fight. Others fought to see another day. In the end, they were met with death. The indigenous people were only there for carnage.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
A single Spaniard held his own against several opponents, managing to eliminate six. The commander steps forward to confront the worthy opponent.
“Are you the enemy commander?”
The assumed commander's eyes widened in disbelief.
“What if I am?”
He gasps for air, already somewhat fatigued.
“Where are your allies? Our scouts had foretold a great army had arrived. If you speak I'll let you live.”
“I know you won't spare me.”
“Oh? Your not as dumb as I thought you would be.”
“You can speak Spanish? I thought your kind were too stupid to learn. All the people we interrogated didn't.”
“Even when faced with death you still mock me and my people.”
He unsheathed his sword.
“Now die. You pale beast.”
Their swords clashed, sending a small shockwave and sparks in the air. Their swords clashed repeatedly, each looking for an edge over the other. Small and compact movements, both showed incredible swordsmanship.
An aura can be seen on the Spaniards sword. He lifted the blade upwards and swung it downward to the earth. The blade was aimed to split his opponents head but before the blade could touch its attended target. The commander had dodged out of the way, almost grazing him in the process.
The commander extended his unarmed arm with his palm opened and fired a wind projectile to his abdomen. With no time to react he had no choice but brace for impact. Blood spewed out of his mouth involuntarily as he was pushed back.
A sword impaled the ground but it wasn't the Spaniard. The Mexica threw his sword so he can freely use both hands. On each hand he casts wind spells, they take the appearance of spears. The tip went in rotation like a whirlpool.
By the time the Spaniard had stopped being thrown back, two wind spears were headed his way. Once more, he poured aura to his sword. He cut down the incoming projectiles. Only to be met with another one that came over his head. A large rock was headed toward him. Using his quick reflexes, he managed to cut down the threat.
He looked over to where the enemy commander was but he was nowhere to be seen. His eyes have widened once more as he realized the rock was meant to cover his sight.
'I've messed up.'
Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out a silhouette of his enemy. He twists and turns his body towards him. It seems to be too late. The Mexica tightens his grip on the sword as the sword is being swung. He can feel his body being impaled by the blade as it travels upward diagonally across his body. The blade travels upward toward the sky but the assault doesn't stop there. The commander had swung his sword back down to slash him once more.
The Spaniard twitched in pain as he realized he had been slashed twice. He retreated away from him.
'I can't win.'
The “pale beast” whose name was unknown knew his time was up. All he could do it to buy time to those who ran from the carnage. He stood still with his blade in front trying to predict any incoming attack.
A sharp pain inhibited his chest. As he looked down, a tip of a sword could be seen. Blood spilled down his body as he went on his knees.
Behind him a few feet away stood the Mexica vice commander. He had thrown his blade at him to end the fight as he knew the Spaniard would just try to extend the fight.
“Tough bastard. I threw that with all my strength and it didn't go in all the way.”
The Spaniard started to laugh hysterically, coughing out blood as any trace of life in his eyes flicker.
“You fools. You fell for the trap. Normally, I wouldn't have said anything. However, since you're so content with killing us here I would tell you this. Our flanking expedition should be slaughtering your families in the capital soon enough.”
The commander's eyes widened.
“NOT SO HAPPY NOW, RIGHT!! ENJOY YOUR VICTORY BUT ONCE YOU RETURN THERE SHALL BE NO ONE LEFT!!”
Somehow the Spaniard coughs up even more blood, ultimately he collapses on all four. In rage, the Mexica walks up to the dying soldier and lifts up his blade to finish what he started. His blade makes contact with the earth below, marking the soil around in red. The head now separated from the body rolls over in circles. He saw his own corpse at a distance away, a view he would only see once.
The commander, now frantic, ran toward the messenger. Only the messenger should be on horseback back.
'If what that pig I killed said was true then I'm too late to rescue my family.'
When the messenger on horseback came into view. He was shoved off the horse by the leader.
“What the fuck!”
The messager yelled as his face was red from anger.
“Tell them to finish them off! The capital might be in trouble, I’ll be back!”
He rode out of the forest and into the plains which he rode for hours. Those hours he rode felt like an eternity. The suspense was killing him, he couldn't handle the thought of his slain family before him.
'Please be safe. I beg of you.'
He came closer and closer as the sun started to emerge from the horizon. Smoke was visible from his location. His face twisted, what the soldier said earlier turned out to be true. If he wasn't going full speed already then he was now.
There stood four pyramids made of stone. Each pyramid contained small communities of the highest class in society. Around those pyramids were houses of commoners. At the center of the city was a long and wide road with a sacrificial platform for the gods.
He went to the outskirts of where his family resided. Riding across the dirt streets he tried to remember the lay out of the neighborhood as it was destroyed or overcome by flames.
'Shit, where the hell is my house? If only I were around more often I could have gotten there faster.'
After correcting himself again and again, he spotted his home. It was in perfect condition. His spirits were high but he cannot feel content as he still doesn't know his family's whereabouts.
He got off his horse that fell over from exhaustion. The commander, a father and a husband now stood at the entrance of his home. The door creaked slowly open as he carefully walked in, not trying to alarm anyone. It was quiet, too quiet. The only sound that was heard were the footsteps he took. To his surprise it was empty, he searched everywhere.
“NOOOO!!!”
The scream of a woman echoed throughout the neighborhood. He ran to find the source of the cry.
“PLEASE!!! NOOO!!”
The cry was now closer to him but it sounded as if she was moving. He ran closer to the center of the city where the pyramids were located. The shrieks were terribly loud. His attention was now directed toward the sacrificial platform located in the dead center of the city. To his horror, dead bodies piled up on the main road.
'I must hurry and eliminate them before they kill more people. The people here were rounded up and killed. They were probably running away and got caught. It explains why they were executed here.'
As he ran down, a particular corpse caught his attention. He stood before the beautiful slain woman holding her child, the legs under him gave out.
Wha- what am I fighting for? Why am I still alive?
His eyes were looking at his family but at the same time they weren't. His face wrinkled and creased in disgust.
“I’ll wipe all of those snow pigs off the face of the earth. Every. Last. One.”
He said, getting up on his feet.
Spaniard soldiers could be seen sacrificing the last of the survivors. They begged for mercy but were given none. A sound interrupted their playtime. Every soldier turned their heads, only to be met with a head rolling on the floor. One soldier facing against a squad by himself.
“There were soldiers left?”
One Spaniard asked.
They had no time to react as he slashed each one while doging incoming attacks. Each movement was calculated but at the same time there was ruthlessness behind them. Everyone fell except one. The last shaking while holding his weapon. With one hand, he slammed his head against the sacrificial platform.
“I made sure not to kill you. I want you to feel all of it.”
The commander aimed his sword against his chest with the other hand still pinning him down. Carefully carving into his chest making sure the heart still pounding inside him was unharmed. The Spaniard tried throwing kicks and punches but it proved ineffective. The screams he made were ear-splitting. Once fully detached he raised the soldier's heart still beating in one hand, blood spewing down his hand.
“I offer you this heart. In exchange, guide my wife and child in the afterlife.”