Camaxtli has a minion!

Otomi the Nocturne

I saw it coming, of course. Even if I did not hold power over fate and watched the sway of time, I would have seen it coming. It was as inevitable as the slow turn of the seasons. It came with black powder and the golden helms of self-proclaimed gods.

The downfall of my people.

I was not always as I am now; bloodthirsty and violent in my ways. My claws did not yearn to rend flesh from bone. My muzzle did not strain towards the metallic scent of blood freshly spilled upon the dark, rich soil. I did not bay my eternal grief to my lesser Sun-cousin, who still struggles to cross the sky with what little wind is left to him.

I was a god of the hunt.

My people were simple and strong of heart. They were the Otomi and I watched them live their short lives. So short! I would barely blink and an old man died. A sigh passed my jowls and a babe entered the world, surely eased by a woman under my Mother's patronage. I flexed a foreleg and a town fell to disease. My demands were few; my month was filled with hunting and feasting, a single man and woman sacrificed.

My simple people endured.

When my War-cousins descended upon my people, the Otomi relinquished. The strength of the army quelled the young men's hope for victory. Some were taken. They were taken and offered to the other gods. Their blood beat from their raised hearts and their bodies were cast down the stone stairs. I was welcomed by my War-Sun-cousin, central deity to all people. It was from his hand that I claimed the power of fate.

And I saw.

They came across the deep sea, our coast ravaged by their war machines. The first blast from the metal cylinder stirred somewhat in the depths of my heart. I looked to my War-Sun-cousin and he gave me a second gift. A cursed gift.

I became a god of war.

When the demons took the exalted Motecuhzoma, emperor of the people, my beloved Otomi called to me. The sacrifices intensified and blood pooled at the base of all our temples. I gifted my people what strength I could, instilled them with courage and valour. I paced at their sides as they held against the gold-helmed men. I struck out at those who felled my men with their weapons that smelled of black powder and death.

And I mourned.

There were too few of our people. The sacrifices taken were too many. Disease had desolated what little strength we had left. And the demons held the power of knowledge. They had used it to convince the emissaries of the emperor that they were more than men, that they were gods. It was the catalyst to it all.

My people are no more.