Sol Invictus 1: The Dawn
Snarling, the beast leapt forward, jaws snapping for the back of the little girl as she ran, screaming and bloodied, away from it. With a roar of his own, Diego kept his aim steady and let fly with a three-round burst. The first elemental round was Hydro, the second Electro, the last, Dendro. The reaction slowed the Rifthound, but didn’t stop it. He kept firing, walking forward and pumping as many rounds as he could into the creature, until the bolt slammed back on an empty magazine. Thankfully, the last bullet caused the creature to let out a keening cry, then collapse back into the Void from whence it came.
Rapidly reloading, Diego picked up the child, then looked down the street, where more Rifthound cries were coming between the stalled cars. He grimaced, seeing the bodies lying there in pools of blood, as well as the various Abyssal monsters coming. Clutching the child to him, Diego turned and ran for all he was worth back up the street.
“Dios te salve, María, llena eres de gracia, El Señor es contigo,” he panted, holding the girl close as he ran for the rally point, feeling her hot tears against his chest as his rifle thumped against his back on its strap.
To his horror, one of those masked giants appeared, crackling with abyssal power. The human defenders cried out in shock and tried to fight back, but the thing slammed its fists into them, pasting two into the concrete, and sending others flying.
Desperately, Diego tried to grab for his rifle with one hand, while holding tight to his precious burden.
Then a bolt from the blue slammed down into the abyssal giant, and Diego’s heart lept in his chest. A cape! So some of Los Valientes were still alive and fighting then. The parahuman was some sort of Alexandria type, a flying brick who was able to exchange a flurry of blows with the giant. Diego pumped a few rounds into the creature’s back, useless as that felt, and in a few moments, the creature was dead, the parahuman pulping the creature’s skull before it dissolved into purple goo.
Then Diego caught a good look at the cape’s uniform, and his face, and acid disgust replaced hope. “You! What the fuck are you doing here, Carlo?”
His damned stepbrother stood, hair perfect as always, and had the temerity to grin at Diego. “Why, I thought you’d be happy to see me, brother. It looks like you could use the help, no?”
Tamping down his temper, Diego gritted his teeth and swallowed his angry words before replying. “I can. Mexico can. I am sorry, I spoke in haste. You saved my life, again. I just…does that mean the Protectorate is here?”
Carlo had the good grace to look ashamed, and he shook his head once. “If they are, I am it. Sorry. The Abyss is attacking Phoenix, Los Alamos, El Paso, Honolulu…it’s bad. But, when I heard your call for help…well. I am still a son of Mexico.”
“About time you remembered that,” Diego growled, unable to hold back all of his temper. He looked at the destroyed outpost and shook his head. “Pedro! We’re pulling back! We can’t hold them here any longer. There’s too many coming.”
The old farmer swore, glancing around. His right arm was bloodied and hanging limp, and the bandage around his head was soaked red. “But there’s nowhere else to fall back to, boss! This is the last point before-”
“I know,” Diego said, weariness filling him. He handed the sniffling girl off to Pedro. “Take her. You’re in no shape to fight.”
Pedro accepted the child, but didn’t look best pleased. “I can still fight! I’ve got one arm left. If we pull back though, what about the other refugees? Surely there are more survivors.”
Diego let out a bitter laugh, and glanced back, to where the rest of his men were firing on another wave of abyssal monsters, mostly the little ones this time. “There’s no more survivors. Not here. Pull back to the stadium. Tell everyone to fall back to the final barricades. If we have even a single gap in our lines, they’ll come pouring in.”
They began to pull back, firing as they went whenever another abyssal monster popped up. Carlo was everywhere, using his fists or the glowing tinkertech sword he had to put down the monsters. Even so, they lost half a dozen more men in the fight through the short handful of blocks to Estadio Azteca, with Abyssal creatures popping out left and right. Most of their illumination came from flickering street lights or fires, as the sky had gone completely dark purple, even though it was supposed to be close to noon.
There was a lull in the fighting as they approached the stadium, which was surrounded by hastily erected barricades. There was little in the way of military hardware, though Diego did see a burned-out APC with the corpses of soldiers scattered around it. Their weapons were gone of course, scavenged by the living, along with their armor, so the bodies were mostly naked.
“Shit,” Carlo growled, landing next to Diego in a gust of air. “Where are Los Valientes? Where’s the fucking military, or even the police?!”
“Dead,” Diego said, spitting a wad of phlegm into the dust. “Why do you think I’m in charge of this group? There was no one else left to take command, so I did.”
“Ah yes, my brother, always one to rise to the occasion,” Carlo said with his usual acerbic tone.
Diego nearly rose to the bait, then sighed. “Honestly, you might be one of the last still alive and fighting. The last cape other than you I saw was a poor Dendro Vision holder who was swarmed by half a dozen rift hounds three hours ago. They’re targeting capes. I…I don’t know how long you’ll last. So…”
Closing his eyes, Diego wrapped both his arms around his brother, who stiffened suddenly and squeezed as hard as he could. “Thank you. For coming. This…this is the end, Carlo. You know what’s coming for us.”
To his faint surprise, Carlo hugged him back, though gently, and Diego heard the pain in his brother’s voice. “I’m sorry. Sorry, I wasn’t there when father…well. That’s in the past. And we don’t have much of a future, so let’s not waste it, eh?”
“You came back. That’s what matters. Brother,” Diego said, and then let go with one final squeeze. He turned to his men. “Right! Man those barricades! Get that machine gun set up! They’ll be on us any minute!”
There were a few desultory attacks by lone abyssal creatures, mostly the small goblin ones and the little rift hounds, but those were cut down with weapon fire. No fully automatic wastes of ammo, either. His men were veterans now after two full days of fighting for their lives.
To Diego’s surprise, an elderly priest came about, still wearing his ecumenical collar. He had a young woman helping him along, as from the bloody bandages on his head the man was clearly both injured and too old to get about easily, but he was placing wafers on the tongues of the men and giving them a sip of wine before moving on to the next one.
When he approached Carlo, Diego expected his brother to refuse communion and confession, but he was in for another surprise. Carlo knelt and opened his mouth, allowing the elderly priest to give him the sacrament. He chewed and swallowed, then gave a wry grin. “It has been long since my last confession, Father. My sins are great, and time is short. So I will simply say that I repent, and pray that God will forgive me and judge me fairly.”
“That is all we can ask in a time such as this,” the priest said, before turning to Diego, who bowed his head and accepted communion and the priest's blessing.
“I have held anger in my heart against my brother, Father. I confess my sins, and ask for absolution,” he said, forcing himself not to look at Carlo.
“Christ hears, my Son, and knows your heart. Say the prayer to Saint Michael, and fight with honor,” the old man said.
Before he could turn to the next man, the girl helping him let out a gasp and pointed. “Father Aparico! It’s the Devil!”
There was a deep, basso rumble that Diego could feel in his bones, and he turned, horror gripping him as he voided his bladder against his will. Several of his men cried out and fell to the ground, gripping their heads, gnashing their teeth, and spasming wildly. There, blacker even than the darkened sky, the massive coils of a midnight purple serpent were silhouetted. Its purple eyes blazed with malevolence, and clouds of venom issued from its maw. And below, endless portals began to open.
“Apep,” Carlo gasped, horror filling his own eyes. “It’s here. Madre de Dios. It’s here.”
“Stand fast in faith, my children!” a voice cried. It was quavering and high-pitched, but there was strength to it. Diego looked up to see the priest raising a wooden crucifix to the sky, and damn him if it didn’t glow with a holy light. “God is with you! Do not fear, though you walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death! The Holy Virgin fights with us! Do not give up hope!”
Seeing the faith and courage of the old man had an effect on Diego, and it was as if a spell was broken. Ashamed, he got to his feet. “You heard the Father! On your feet, sons of Mexico! This shall be our finest hour!”
His men arose, gripping their guns, looks of despair replaced with resolute determination. They had accepted their deaths, but they would fight on.
“Well. I guess this is where it ends, Diego,” Carlo said, his eyes fixed on the Endbringer as it rumbled slowly forward, hordes of Abyssal monsters in its wake.
“No. This is not where it ends! Do not give up hope! There are thousands, a million, behind us in that stadium! We cannot let even a single monster through!” Diego called. A part of him knew that was folly. The Daughter of Lightning, the Pyro Dragon, the Knights of Favonius, the Elite of the Protectorate, even a Fatui Harbinger, had been needed to defeat Apep the last time. What hope did they have?
It didn’t matter. If you didn’t fight with victory in mind, you had already lost. And Diego Diaz Rodriguez had never lost a fight in his life. Not even against his brother. He didn’t intend to start now.
Moments later, the swarm of abyssal monsters appeared, some from rifts, others sprinting out of ruined buildings and around or through burned-out cars.
“Let them have it!” Diego roared, and the defenders let loose with every bit of firepower they had. For a few seconds, that was enough to stymie the assault. But they faced an enemy that did not know fear, and hungered only for blood. Carlo met the first of the creatures to make it to the line, slicing it in half, then the next, and the next. But he was but one man, and the Abyssal creatures seemed to be concentrating on him. He was tough, thanks to what the gringos had done to him, but he couldn’t survive a dozen wounds from abyssal creatures.
With a scream of rage, Diego tossed aside his empty rifle and picked up a machete, then charged forward, hacking at a creature that was trying to leap onto Carlo. He knew it was folly, knew it was useless, but he didn’t care.
“GET OFF MY BABY BROTHER, PENDEJO!”
Though the night is dark and the dawn far off, your Courage does not wane.
His blade bit into the goblin, which snarled and whirled on Diego. He gritted his teeth and jerked his weapon back to swing again, ignoring the voice whispering in his mind.
Let your Flame burn brighter, for it is now or never. This is your moment!
Something ignited within Diego, all his rage, all his passion, all his determination. He could hear the whisper now, feel its power. Holy Mother, not for me, but for him. Protect Carlo in this hour.
Your Vision is of Peace, but your purpose is War. You shall not rest until your land is free.
With a strength he didn’t know he had, Diego split the goblin's head, and it fell. He gasped, then looked up, only to find Apep itself looming over him. He coughed, feeling the poison air beginning to corrode his body and mind. But he didn’t care. He would not give up. Never.
Lift your weapon, Son of Battle, Son of Passion! For your Flame shall not be extinguished this day!
Flames coated Diego's weapon as a crimson gem fell into his left hand. He gripped it tightly, raising his machete on high. Carlo was down on one knee, bleeding and half-dazed, and Diego stepped between his little brother and all the demons of hell and their master. He pointed his sword at Apep, ready to challenge even an Endbringer.
But he didn’t have to.
All at once, the night was banished, and the Unconquered Sun arose over Estadio Azteca. Diego had to blink away spots from his vision, but he dared to look directly at the sun itself as it crashed into Apep. His jaw dropped, as he beheld a woman of flames, bright as the noonday, doing battle with Apep. For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief.
An Archon. The Holy Mother has sent one of her Son’s Archons to fight for us.
Laughing, Diego turned back to his men. He was only mildly surprised to see that Father Aparico was gripping a Vision in one hand and a Bible in the other, his former weakness banished and a wide grin on the old man’s face.
“Well then, what are you waiting for?” Diego demanded of those around him. “CHARGE!”
Even Carlo got to his feet with a wordless warcry as the defenders became the attackers, rushing out of their barricade to bring the battle to the Abyss. The monsters fought back with tooth and claw, but they were quailing, afraid, as overhead, their master was beaten back, inch by inch, by the Archon of flames. She had a great sword in her hands, one that seemed to have been forged of the Sun itself, shining nearly as brightly as its wielder.
Wielding flames as though he had been born to them, Diego vanquished foe after foe, the burning heart of Pyro pounding his veins. He felt like laughing and singing despite the grim work, for what had seemed to be certain defeat had transformed into impossible victory. For how could they lose now?
Apep let out a snarl, and to Diego’s delight, it turned and began to flee, flying away even more swiftly than it had approached. The Archon was not content to simply let her foe go, punishing the Endbringer with lances of flame a hundred meters long that burned great scars in Apep’s back. Still, when a rift opened and Apep slithered in, she did not continue to pursue. Instead, she turned about, flying down low to where Diego and the others were battling the abyss.
A wall of flame suddenly appeared, and Diego couldn’t help but flinch back as it raced towards him. Before he could do more than stumble a step or two, it had washed over him. To his shock, instead of burning him alive, it soothed away his hurts and revitalized him, giving him a rush of energy.
In contrast, wherever the Archon’s flames touched Abyssal creatures, they were burned to cinders and ash, falling down and fading into motes of darkness. Soon, the battlefield was empty of all foes, and Diego hoisted his machete, letting loose a mighty cry of joy. He turned to find Carlo nearby, tears on his face. To his surprise, Diego found he was weeping as well. Not tears of sorrow, but of joy.
Laughing, crying, the formerly estranged brothers embraced one another, pounding fists on the other’s back.
“Oh shit! Are you alright?” Carlo gasped, a look of horror coming over him. “I didn’t hold that one back!”
“I’m fine!” Diego laughed. He held up his new Vision. “You see? You’re not the only cape in the family now!”
They embraced again, sounds of celebration all around them. After a long embrace, the two brothers separated then started. The Archon had landed and was standing right next to them.
“Sawubona! Ingabe wena uyinduna yaleli butho?” she said in cheerful tones, a broad grin on her face.
The two of them shared a startled look, then hastily bowed to the divine warrior.
“Apologies, Archon. We don’t understand you,” Diego said.
The woman cocked her head to her side. The fire faded from her hair, and Diego was left looking at, well, a perfectly ordinary woman. She even had faint wrinkles around her eyes and on her face, not at all like the inhuman beauty he’d come to expect from seeing one of God’s Messengers. Even Nahida Saeed had an ethereal quality about her, a grace and cuteness that no human child, however delightful, could match. To say nothing of the Raiden Shogun and her daughters, or even the terrible Tsaritsa.
“ʻĀ, me he mea lā aia au ma kekahi wahi ʻē. Hiki anei iā ʻoe ke hoʻomaopopo i ka ʻōlelo a ka poʻe o nā pūnāwai?” the woman said in what sounded like an entirely different language than the first, still smiling and raising an eyebrow.
“Sorry, do you speak English instead?” Carlo said in that language.
The woman laughed and shook her head. “Amo, nicmati! Auh tlein ipan notlācatiliztlahtōl, in intlahtōl in icōnēuhhuān in cuahuitl icpac nemih?”
That sounded…closer. The words were a bit off, but it sounded like Nahuatl. “Nicyōl…matiz? nicmati inon…inon lenguaje. ¿Ticmati achi español?”
That got him a laugh and a broad grin, but also a shake of the Archon’s head. “Āhā! Ca zan ic, ca oncan! Quema, huel nimitzcaciz. Ca ye nicmati campa nechhuīca Ronova. Tlein catca inon? Nicmatiyāya ca ce hueyi tēuctli in tlayohuayan, ce tēuctli in ahmo cualli cemānāhuac.”
“That sound like Nahuatl to you?” Diego asked Carlo.
His brother shrugged. “Maybe. I never bothered to learn any. You were the one with your nose in old books all the time.”
“Some help you are,” Diego muttered under his breath, then turned and shouted. “HEY! Anyone speak Nahuatl?”
“I do, no need to shout, my Son,” Father Aparico said, stepping forward confidently. He bowed to the Archon. "Xi tlajpalo, Santo Arcon. Tiktlaskamatiliaj in Santa Ichpochtli ihuan Iconeuh, ipampa mitztitlanilij totech ipan ni tonali tlen timonequiliaj motlapalehuil."
The woman cocked her head to one side, her brow wrinkling slightly. Then she laughed, and reached out, gripping the priest by the shoulder and gently straightening him. "¿Santa Ichpochtli? Ah, ah, ah! Amo, tātah, amo nichpōchtli. Ya huehcāuh nicnōtza in yaōyōtl. Nicmati quenin nitlatlani ipan yaōyōtl, huan nicmati quenin nitlatlani ipan tetlasōtlaliztli noihqui. Intla tictemoa se chipāhuac ichpōchtli, amo nehuatl. Pero intla tictemoa se yaotēquihua para momanauis inic tlayohualli, quema—nican nicah."
The Priest suddenly reddened, an aghast expression coming over him.
“What did she say?” Diego asked, somewhat impatiently.
“Her accent is…odd. But, ah, well, I welcomed her in the name of the Blessed Virgin, and ah…she said she is, er, a woman of…experience,” the priest admitted.
That made Carlo burst out laughing, and Diego had to fight back a grin. So, it seemed there were good times to be had in Heaven after all. “Well, give her our thanks! Without her, that would have been a hard fight indeed!”
Father Aparico gave Diego an exasperated look, one that said, “Lying is a sin, my son,” but he seemed to translate Diego’s words faithfully.
The Archon seemed to take it in good stride, laughing in delight and clapping Diego on the shoulder. “You’ve got spirit! I see why the Sacred Flame chose you as one of its bearers. What is your name, warrior?” Father Aparico translated.
Straightening, Diego puffed out his chest and declared, “Diego Diaz Rodriguez. I’m a farmer from Los Altos de Jalisco.”
“What he means is he owns the largest Blue Agave fields and Tequila bottling plant in Guadalajara. My brother has never worked a day in the fields in his life,” Carlo said with a snort.
“That’s not true and you know it. Father had us working as hands since we were twelve,” Diego said, trying not to grit his teeth or punch his infuriating brother.
“Just don’t lie to the alien and get us incinerated,” Carlo said with a shrug.
“Angel. Not alien. Don’t believe the lies the gringos feed you,” Diego snapped, then glanced at the priest, who to his horror, was translating still. “Father! No need to tell the Holy Archon everything in our little spat.”
To his mortification, the Archon grinned at what she was hearing. She stuck out her hand, which Diego could only gape at, and spoke through Father Aparico.
“You are a man of passion, Diego Diaz Rodriguez. I too, am possessed of a fiery temperament. So are all who hear the call of the Sacred Flame. I am Mavuika Huitztlan. It is an honor to fight beside you.”
Hesitantly, Diego reached out, then gripped the hand of God’s Anointed. He met her gaze, like a man. “The pleasure is all mine, Archon Mavuika. Let me be the first to welcome you to Earth Bet. To Mexico City, as our Savior.”
She smiled at that and shook her head. “I am no Savior. Just a woman. Now. Where is the fight? I have a score to settle with the Abyss.”
Diego couldn’t help but grin back. “So do I. You lead, Archon. And I’ll follow.”
Sol Invictus 2: Arrival of the Sacred Flame
She was tired. But that was alright. Even the Sun had to set at the end of the day.
Above her, the sky was dark, split by crimson eyes within eyes that blinked down at the mortal world from Celestia. All around her were the ruins of a once great city, laid low by the Abyss so many centuries ago. Yet, the Cinder City endured. Natlan endured. The Lord of the Night, in the form of a wispy pillar of light, accompanied Mavuika, lighting her path through the dark, one last time.
She turned to the final steps, where a flame had kindled upon the throne of Archons of old. Taking one final breath, she put her foot upon the first step.
“Mavuika!”
A smile played at her lips, and Mavuika turned as footsteps scrambled up the stairs behind her. She turned and looked to see Citlali and Tumaini racing towards her, Paimon trailing behind. Well. One last goodbye, then.
“Ah, you got here sooner than I expected,” she said, nodding to her friends.
The little fairy zoomed up to Mavuika, grabbing her hand, tears in her eyes. “W-what are you doing?”
Mavuika gently gave Paimon a squeeze, then pulled her hand free and looked back up to the baleful crimson eyes of the Shade. “Closing the final chapter on the plan that has consumed Natlan for five hundred... no, for the entirety of our history.”
She formed a fist, letting flames consume it as she stared into their heart. “We have eradicated the Abyss from Natlan, but its power remains in worlds beyond Teyvat, tremendous and unyielding. Only by completely restoring the Night Kingdom can we defend against its corrosion in the long run.”
”But, the architect of the Night Kingdom is near her end,” Mavuika said, turning to the pillar of light that was Yohualtecuhtin. The ancient angel felt weary. Mavuika could understand. She too had fought long and hard.
“I am afraid I can no longer safeguard Natalan as I have these many centuries. And, should my lifeforce be utterly depleted…the Rules of Natlan will fade as well,” the Lord of the Night chimed; her pitch mournful.
“We have no need for the Ode of Resurrection right now, but it remains Natlan's strongest defense should the Abyss return one day,” Mavuika explained gently, knowing that Citlai and Tumaini would connect the dots.
Cilali swallowed, tears welling up in her eyes. She’d already known, Mavuika could see. But she hadn’t accepted it yet. Tumaini’s hand reached out, clasping the old witch’s in his own as Citlali said, “So…then you’re planning to…”
Mavuika nodded, and turned back towards the fire that lit the peak of Cinder City. “Yes. I shall give my life to the Sacred Flame again. Just as I did 500 years ago, that I could be reborn in this era. But this time…I give my life as fuel for Natlan itself, as the Pyro Archons before me have done. That the Night Kingdom might endure, and the children of this generation grow up in a Natlan that knows both peace, and security.”
“This is a plan that demands sacrifice,” Yohualtecuhtin chimed gently, reaching out a tendril of light to caress Mavuika’s cheek. “The flames of your life are strong, and will burn for a long time. What shall you do, however, when they dim?”
Mavuika shrugged, then turned to Tumaini. “Then I will leave it to the next Pyro Archon to find a solution, before the flame dims.”
Tumaini sucked in a breath, then reached to a pouch at his side, and drew forth the Pyro Gnosis. “Mavuika, I…I can’t. I’m a Traveler. An Outlander. My journey…”
She laughed and raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you intend to continue on? What of your child?”
Tumaini went bright red, as did Citlali, as Paimon gasped in delight and zoomed about their heads happily. It was rather adorable to see the two of them act like abashed school children, still holding hands. Citlali’s right hand went over her abdomen. “How did you…? I’m not even entirely certain yet. We…our first time…it was just before…”
“Just before the battle. I know,” Mavuika said with a nod. “But it is the seed of hope. Something for you both to cling to.”
Tumaini broke down, falling to one knee and weeping, Citlali dropping to her lover’s side and embracing him. “I…Lumine…I don’t blame you, Mavuika. When we killed Gosoythoth…we set Lumine free, too. I saw her spirit pass, right before…right before…”
Mavuika put a hand on Tumaini’s shoulder. “You are a Traveler no more, Aether. This land has become your home. It is to you, our Hope, that I pass the Flame. You will light Natlan’s path forward, with the wisest of us at your side to give you good counsel.”
“We…we lost so many in that final battle…” Citlali whispered. “Ororon…he…”
“You will have a son,” Mavuika prophesied. “You will name him Ororon, and he will grow strong and noble, as his namesake was. Perhaps if Ororon had lived…but no. This is my path. I walk to it with joy, knowing that I leave behind a Natlan that is strong, at peace, and in good hands.”
She gently kissed Citlali on both cheeks, gave Tumani a hug, and patted Paimon on the head.
I GROW TIRED OF THESE GAMES, ARCHON. THE AUTHORITY WAS GIVEN. NOW, THE PRICE MUST BE PAID, the Shade of Death commanded.
Mavuika laughed. “You would think a god would be more patient with a mere mortal!”
Ronova did not waiver. YOU ARE NO MERE MORTAL. YOU HAVE BEEN GRANTED THE AUTHORITY OF DEATH ITSELF. SUCH COMES WITH A PRICE.
“One I was glad to pay.” Mavuika strode up the steps with a grin in her face, and stuck her hand into the flame. “My only regret is that this is the last life I have to give. For Natlan!”
She flung herself onto the Pyro, arms spread wide, a grin on her lips. She expected her body to be incinerated, her essence, her very being, to be spent as fuel that would keep the spirit of Natlan alive.
Well done, good and faithful servant. But your race is not yet finished.
It was but a still, small voice. Not at all like that of the Shade of Death, or even the angels and gods Mavuika had conversed with before. She blinked, and found herself plummeting through darkness, A Thousand Blazing Suns in her hand. Brow furrowing in confusion, she tried to see through. That felt like the Abyss below her.
It hit her like a wave. Prayers. She’d heard them before, of course. In the Speakers Chamber, or when she held her hand in the Sacred Flame. She wasn’t a god, so it was only at certain times she could hear the prayers of her people. The strength of an Archon, even more, was hers, but not all else that gods were burdened with.
The prayers asked for one thing: For the Sun to rise. For the Darkness to be banished.
Mavuika grinned, and firmed her grip on her sword. She didn’t know where she was headed, but she knew what it was.
War.
She flung herself back into existence, and spotted her foe immediately. It was both the same as Gosoythoth had been, and different. A mimic that had taken on the form of a godlike being, corrupting them and spreading death.
To her delight, the serpent looked up at her, and Mavuika felt fear. This thing, this beast, that had spread death and destruction, looked up as the Sun broke through the clouds it had summoned.
Letting out a whoop, Mavuika crashed into it, wielding the Pyro Authority just as much as she did her great blade. It wanted to make war upon existence? She would show it War.
The serpent hissed, and immediately recoiled. Mavuika caused its very nature as a Devourer to be turned inward, the thing at War with reality, and reality itself turning and fighting the creature, rejecting its existence.
“LIGHT OF THE BLAZING SUN!” she screamed, and let her flames wash over the beast. Her fire did not simply burn the flesh, but purified the soul. The beast recoiled, and opened a portal back to the pit that spawned it. Mavuika punished it as it went, waves of flame scorching the beast as it fled.
Mavuika let it go, at least for now. She looked below her, and saw a city in ruins, full of death and destruction. This would not stand.
“Let the Sacred Flame bring purity to the land once more!” she declared, and roared down, letting her flames grow wider and wider, until they stretched across the horizon. She swept low, trailing them behind her, burning the Abyssal corruption to ash, and at the same time, restoring the bodies and spirits of the defenders.
She came back around, banking and studying the warriors that now held the field. They were looking up at her, cheering and raising weapons in salute. She grinned and returned the gesture, then noted two men at the forefront of the battle. By the way they carried one another, they appeared to be captains, or at least leaders of some sort. She alighted, waving and grinning at them.
“Hello! Are you the captain of this company?”
The two men, close relatives by the look of them, exchanged a look, and something passed between them. One had a beard and was dressed in clothes that had the look of civilian wear and took the lead, the other was clad in armor of some kind, but was clean shaven. Interesting.
“Disculpe, Arconte. No le entendemos,” the taller one with a beard said.
Ah. Well, it had been worth a try to speak the language of the Children of Echos, as that was the most common language on the battlefield of Natlan. Mavuika switched to nā pūnāwai. “Ah, it seems I’m somewhere unfamiliar! Can you speak the Language of the Springs?”
The blank looks told her all she needed to know, but they did try a different language. "Maddau imi, a labarēs tū ġeis Angle?"
Nope, that may as well have been gobbledy gook. Well, at least these men seemed to be scholars of some kind. Good! Leaders of men should be well schooled in many languages. The diplomats table was, after all, just another form of warfare.
“Ha, I see! Well, how about the tongue of my birth, the Language of the Scions of the Canopy?”
Success! There was recognition in their eyes, and after a brief exchange, the scruffy one with a vision managed, “I think I understand? I know that... that language. Do you know a little espanol?”
“Aha! So, that’s the one then!” Mavuika said, flashing them her most winning smile. “Yes, I understand you. Well, at least I know where Ronova has brought me. By the way, what was that thing? I think it was some sort of Lord of the Abyss, like the Lord of Eroded Primal Fire.”
Uncomprehension. Hmm. Maybe that was too much. She was considering how to attack the problem, when the elder of the two shouted, and an elder bearing a Pyro Vision came forward, bowing respectfully to Mavuika. She returned the gesture, and the man spoke to her. His accent was odd, but mostly comprehensible.
“Greetings, Holy Archon. We give thanks you are a Holy Maiden, sent by her son, when we needed your help.”
It took Mavuika a moment to puzzle things out, as the words were quite strange. When she figured it out, she had to laugh. “I am no maiden! It’s been a long time since I first answered War’s call. If it’s a fight, I can handle it, either on the battlefield, or the heart. If you’re looking for a pure maiden, I can’t help you there! But, if you need a warrior ready to fight against the Abyss, look no further.”
The elder looked horrified, and Mavuika was more than a little worried she’d offended him, especially when he started talking to the two young men in the first language they’d spoken. She had an ear for languages and picked them up easily, but this one was quite confusing. Maybe a bit like Fontainian? But Mavuika spoke that but poorly.
However, the elder finally said, “The young captain says that the fight would have been trying without you. I told him he’s a young hothead with more courage than sense.”
That made Mavuika grin, and she clapped the young captain on the shoulder. “You’ve got courage! I can see why the Sacred Flame has chosen you to bear a Vision. What is your name, captain?”
It turned out his name was Diego Diaz Rodriguez, from a place called Los Altos de Jalisco. The elder helpfully added, “He was one of the richest men in Mexico, but he lost everything to the Abyss. Still, he led as many of his people to safety as he could, and when the attack came, the young man did rally the defenders. Now, however, he’s squabbling with this gringo cape I believe to be his brother about just how much work they did as farmers. Look at his hands, Holy Archon. They’re not the hands of a soft man.”
Cape? What on Teyvat? Neither of the men wore a cape. It must be a colloquialism of some sort. “And what is your name, honored Elder?”
The old man bowed. “I am Padre Aparico. I am surprised you speak Nahuatl, Holy Archon. I would have thought you would speak Latine, or Español. Now the two boys argue if you are a foreigner or a messenger.”
Indeed, the two men were getting quite heated. Mavuika stepped in, seeking to cool tempers, or at least direct them properly. She stuck out her hand.
“You are a man of passion, Diego Diaz Rodriguez. My heart also burns with passion. So are all who hear the call of the Sacred Flame. I am Mavuika Huitztlan. It is an honor to fight beside you.”
Diego regarded it, then obviously steeled himself, and shook her hand as though he thought it was going to catch on fire. She almost did that, just to goose him.
“The honor is mine, Archon Mavuika. May I be the first to welcome you to the Second World. To the city of Mexico, as our messiah.”
Ha! More prophecy. Mavuika smiled and shook her head. “I’m no messiah. Just a woman. Now. Where is the fight? I’m not finished with the Abyss yet.”
The man matched her grin for grin. “So do I. You lead, Archon. I’ll follow.”
Nodding, Mavuika looked around. She was a little surprised to see people kneeling in a circle. That was…odd. It wasn’t like she was a god or angel. There were civilians coming out of the stadium, mostly the elderly, women, and young children. On seeing her, they made a ritual gesture, touching their foreheads, then left shoulder, then right, then knelt down, bowing their heads.
“They seek your blessing, Holy Archon. I told them…I told them the Blessed Virgin would send us a savior. And…and she did. You came,” Padre Aparico said, desperate hope in his eyes.
Mavuika hesitated, only for a heartbeat. She didn’t know who had sent her. Or why people thought she was a virgin. Who sent maidens into battle? Only idiots. You robbed the cradle doing that. However, she recognized a people who had fought long, and hard. A people who had nearly lost hope as the years of war dragged by.
So, she raised her hand and ignited a flame. With a flick of her fingers, she sent motes of fire to rest over the heads of those around her. The flames sank into them, and the people gasped and shuddered with obvious religious ecstasy.
“I bless you with the Sacred Flame. Fear not! I have come as your ally, and friend.”
“The Reverent Ghost,” the elder gasped, and bowed his head. “Truly, you are the helper that was promised us.”
“Well, the first thing to do is to understand the situation. Who is in command here?” Mavuika asked, looking around.
“You are,” Padre Aparico said, shaking his head.
“No, I mean, your chiefs, your administrators, the ruler of your city. Who is it I can report to?” Mavuika asked.
Aparico translated Mavuika’s words for those present, and Diego shrugged. “The President died over there, where you see those wrecked vehicles. The army was escorting them, got jumped by half a dozen of those giant monsters and a bunch of the little ones. We tried to save him, but…dead. Same for the governor, and the mayor.”
“Surely you have a chain of command. Other officials,” Mavuika pressed. It sounded fairly standard for the Abyss to target leadership and powerful individuals, so she wasn’t surprised by this.
They searched the survivors, and eventually, a middle aged woman in tattered clothes that had once been fine was brought forward. “I am Candela Reyes. I was…I am the National Coordinator of Civil Protection under President Cárdenas. Formerly, under. I manage disaster response for the country, and…and I helped organize the evacuation, here, to Estadio Azteca, Holy Archon.”
“Then you are in command here. Where do you need me?” Mavuika asked.
Reyes blinked, adjusting her cracked and smudged glasses. “I…Holy Archon, you are in command. We had thought…are you not going to rule over us?”
Mavuika briefly considered it. This nation, these people, clearly needed leadership. The Abyss was beaten back, but not defeated. It would return.
However, Mavuika didn’t even know the name of this people, or this city. She had no idea what food they ate, what music they played, what clothing they wore, what languages they spoke, what games they played. To rule Natlan, she had needed to know all of the traditions and culture of the Six Tribes, speak each language flawlessly, and of course, fight alongside their warriors for years and years.
It had been the work of decades.
“Just consider me another warrior, ready to defend your people,” Mavuika said, resting a Thousand Blazing Suns on her shoulder. “What are your orders, Madam President?”
She was taking a stab there, but her guess turned out to be a good one. She’s also judged correctly that this Candela Reyes had fire in blood. Her back straightened, her gaze sharpened, and her tone became commanding.
“We need to comb the ruins for survivors and gather and preserve supplies. You there, young man, Senor Rodriguez, was it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Diego said, bowing to Reyes.
“Get your men together and start a search. Water, food, medicine, blankets, we need everything. I’ll have my assistant mark a map for you with our depot locations, but search wherever there were stores. You, and you, we need to start looking for survivors, there may be-”
Mavuika accepted a commission to lead the search for survivors. She extended her hand, and summoned forth her Flamestrider from where she kept it in her soul. There were a few gasps, and several appreciative whistles.
“This is a beautiful machine; did God himself craft it?” Diego asked, running a hand over the sleek lines of the bike.
“I assure you, this was crafted by mortal hands! A smith by the name of Xilonen, back in Natlan! I’ll have to be careful, she’s not around to repair it!” Mavuika laughed.
They spent the rest of the day finding survivors and gathering supplies, as well as setting up additional aid depots. Mavuika was able to locate the spirits of those in the rubble or in hiding, and lead teams to them or got them out herself. The losses were still horrific, but by the end of the day, there were over 5,000,000 people at various points around and in the city who were confirmed to survive.
“We’re going to have a problem once the sun sets,” Acting President Reyes said, wiping her chipped glasses on a rag before putting them back on the bridge of her nose. She was up in one of the boxes at the top of the stadium, overseeing the rescue operation, with streams of men and women coming and going. “We have no power, and it’s projected to drop to -1C tonight.”
“I think I can handle that,” Mavuika said with a wide grin. “I am, after all, the Pyro Archon.”
Indeed, as the true sun set, Mavuika shot up into the sky, concentrating for a moment. She raised her fist, and then lifted up a blazing orb that shone just as brightly as the noonday sun. She set it just so, high up in the atmosphere, so that it would provide light and warmth for all of the land below her.
She took a moment, high up in the atmosphere, to gaze down at the world below her. It didn’t have the shape of Teyvat at all, nor a false sky above. The land she had arrived in was mountainous, running up to join a great spine of mountains that ran beyond what she could see, up into a great continent. To her left and right were great seas or oceans, with fertile plains running along the coast for hundreds of miles. There, to the south, was a narrow isthmus that joined the northern continent to a large southern one that seemed to be smothered by thick, hot jungles. How large either continent was, Mavuika couldn’t get a good feel for yet.
Still, she sensed Abyssal contamination dotting the landscape. North and south, both were suffering from multiple incursions by the Abyss.
Gingerly, Mavuika reached out to touch the Leylines of this land, and found them…scattered. Unwoven. They were not simply damaged or disorganized, they were…young. Instead of a properly woven tapestry that directed energy throughout the world, these were…well. More like wool that was still on the alpaca, needing to be skirted, washed, carded, combed, and finally spun into usable wool.
Indeed, Mavuika ran her soul up and down the strands of the Leylines around her, and found they were remarkably free of corrosion or corruption. They were in such a primal state that what portions the Abyss had damaged could be snipped out and discarded easily, unlike the carefully ordered network around Natlan.
Interesting. This world felt…well, not young. The fire that burned at its heart was ancient, perhaps older than even Teyvat’s. But…reforged. Yes, that was the right word. Something had happened extremely recently. Not even a decade ago at the outside. That something had changed the soul of this world. It was being made anew, and indeed, Mavuika could feel that her arrival had changed the natural order again, turning simple flame into Pyro. She could sense Pyro Slimes forming in the hearts of volcanoes, or in the bellies of furnaces. A hazard that everyone on Teyvat knew to look out for, but the residents of this world hadn’t experienced yet.
“Well, this is going to be exciting,” Mavuika said, grinning broadly. She called upon the Sacred Flame, and wore the mantle of the Archon once more. Using a trick she’d picked up over the years, Mavuika projected her voice to all those below her, speaking not to their minds, but their hearts. She could have done this earlier, but it robbed her of that real connection to the people learning their language would bring.
PEOPLE OF THIS WORLD. TAKE HEART. THE NIGHT HAS BEEN LONG, AND FULL OF TERRORS. BUT THAT NIGHT HAS ENDED! NOW COMES THE DAWN! I, BEARER OF THE ANCIENT NAME KIONGOZI AND THE DIVINE NAME HABORYM, THE PYRO ARCHON, LORD OF WAR, WILL NOT REST UNTIL THIS DARKNESS IS DRIVEN BEFORE US, AND DESTROYED! FOR THE LIGHT, AND THE DAWN!
There. She was confident that all those who lived from horizon to horizon had heard her. Interesting. Though this world was being reforged, the power she had access to here was…massive. There were so many more people here. So many more souls that were already putting their Faith in her. Well. She wouldn’t let them down.
Task accomplished, Mavuika left the second sun burning in the sky. It would rotate across the world, cleansing the Abyss with its light for three days and three nights. Something told her that there had been darkness for that long, so it was only right that now, there should be light. It was a feat she couldn’t have managed on Tevyat, but with so many believing in her, it was a simple task to call upon her Authority as the Unconquered Sun.
She landed back in the city, and found a celebration already under way. Cases of drink were being brought out, and the refugees were preparing the food they had in great vats of hot stew and bowls of rice, flat bread, and other things.
“Holy Archon! "¡Tú... tú sabes hablar español” Diego shouted, face red as he ran up to her with two beers in hand.
Mauvika grinned and shook her head. She understood what he meant, but had lost the faculty with language when she doffed her mantle, at least temporarily. She held up her thumb and forefinger a breath apart. “Muy poquito. Tú no hablar español."
"¡Pero tu discurso, todos te escuchamos! Hablaste español perfecto. ¿Por qué no puedes hablarlo ahora?" Diego asked, confusion written all over his face.
Mavuika shrugged, not understanding more than a couple of words, then took one of the beers, popped the metal cap off with a finger, and then chugged the whole thing. She tried out another Spanish word she thought she knew as she raised the empty bottle. “FIESTA!”
That brought cheers and laughter from those around her. Mavuika was pressed with all kinds of food and drink, and made it her mission not to miss out on a single new flavor. Most of it was excellent, a lot of it was spicy enough to burn her tongue exactly how she liked it, and the alcohol came in a dozen varieties, including some she was fairly certain Diego insisted he made himself that wasn’t half bad at all.
Her own sun was just passing towards the edge of the horizon when Mavuika began to yawn hugely and exaggeratedly. Padre Arpacio had disappeared some time ago, too old to stay up all night celebrating.
She was led not to a tent, but to one of the stadium's private boxes, which was laid out with a couch and blanket. Someone had taped up a tarp over the glass windows to give her some privacy, and Mavuika thanked them. There were fresh clothes laid out that were more or less in her size, and a bucket of water and wash clothes. That was enough.
She shooed away everyone, including several women who obviously thought to help her bathe, and was finally alone.
At last, Mavuika relaxed. She let herself slump down onto the couch, still fully clothed, and buried her face in her hands. She let the tears come. Not of self pity. Never that. She didn’t feel sorry for herself in the slightest: here was another land, another people, who needed her. The Abyss could be fought here, protecting Natlan and this new world from its machinations.
No pity or self doubt. Mourning, however, she allowed.
Her first thought, as it often was, was of Hine. She had loved her sister dearly, more even than her parents whom she also mourned. She still had the picture, and removed it from under her armor where she had carefully placed it in a small sack. She touched the picture of Hine, her parents, and her two Yumkasaur companions, especially Hinata. She didn’t cry on the picture, but she did let her tears spill again.
Next, she thought of her ancient companions: Sunjatta. Sanhaj. Burkina. Wanjiru. Menilek. And, of course…Tupcac most of all. The nights they had spent in one another’s arms, both before and after she had become the Pyro Archon. They’d met as young warriors before the Cataclysm, before he even bore the ancient name Umoja, and she had inherited Kiongozi and been destined to become the Pyro Archon. They had fought alongside one another, to the bitter end, all those centuries ago…
Last, she thought of her new friends. Kachina, so pure and adorable, the hope of the future who had been so bright and earnest. Mualini, who had inherited Tupac’s ancient name, and always brought a smile to the face of those around her. Kinich, of her own people, whose solid and reliable strength had seen them through so many battles. Xilonen, the greatest craftswoman who Mavuika had ever met, and her best friend in any time. Iansan, steady trainer who had kept everyone marching to the right beat. Chasca, who had never relented despite the great tragedies she had endured. Citlali, whose wisdom and insight Mavuika had relied upon always. Ororon, the quiet boy who had been the first to see the possibility of an alliance with the Fatui. Capitano himself, the man who had gone from another foe to a staunch ally.
And…Tumaini. The Traveler, who had come from across the stars, fallen in love with an ancient witch, and bound himself to the land in ways both ancient and immutable. The man who would succeed Mavuika as the Pyro Archon of Teyvat.
Or, would he? She was still the Pyro Archon. She had the Pyro Authority, though it was subtly different than before. She had left him the Pyro Gnosis, and with it, the hope of a better tomorrow. Who better than Hope himself to guide Natlan into a new age? He would do well with Citlali at his side. Who knew? Perhaps they would become gods themselves, living amongst mortals, and rewriting even the Rules of Natlan themself.
She cried for a good hour, unashamed of her tears. Then, she got up, cleaned herself off, changed into fresh clothes, and lay down to sleep.
The next day, she would show this world why she had been the greatest Lord of War Natlan had ever raised up.
Author's Note:
Kept you waiting, huh?
I'd like to give a special thank you to my beta readers Octoberday, Philosophysics, and Shikaze. Without their help, this story wouldn't have been anywhere near as satisfying to read.
It's been a very long time since our last Archon arrived, both in story and out. I didn't intend for that at first, but there was a lot of ground to cover. Not just for Furina (though hers is one of the longer stories) but for Alexandria, Hannah, and Earth Bet as a whole. The story hit some of its darkest points, with horror and dread entering the world.
It's time to shine a light into that darkness. And become the Shonen Action story we've all been waiting for. I hope you enjoy reading Mavuika and the Triple Alliance's tale as much as I enjoy writing it. It's been three years of Second Archon War. Here's to at least two more.
The next chapter after this double one will be a preview for Zhongli, as I don't want to get more than 4 chapters ahead of what's publicly posted.