THE FOURTH BOOK OF SLAUGHTER
4 Slaughter 1: 1-3
Behold, the Redeemer
And it came forth from the ancient serpent deceivers mouth: perjury, slander, defamation, loathing, and venom. And upon the hearts and minds of the beholders it weighed heavily, leaving their spirits tormented, their wills broken. And as the serpent transformed into flesh, their Redeemer stood before them. And upon their collective conscience, He engraved His message: the message of chaos, the message of those deemed Elite.
4 Slaughter 3: 1-4
And thus, they came in droves.
Out of the night sky He came, bringing with Him the strength of a thousand armies, but walking in toe with only three. They came in droves, retreating only to advance with an even more relentless force, leaving only death and despair in their wake, progressing onward under an empty banner. A godless entity, answering to no master, sparing no soul, heeding no plea for mercy. And at the outset of war, their names would be etched in stone by the fires as the true victors, the true immortals amongst the scum of the Earth.
The incessant buzzing of the planes two small engines had become monotonous to their ears. The flight had been long but what lied ahead prevented weariness from befalling either of them.
Slaughter: Have the preparations been made as I asked?
Serafina: Of course, you have nothing to worry about.
Slaughter: Very well.
As the plane descends over the single-laned runway, The Angel of Death swirls His hair around the back of His head as Serafina hands Him something. He dons the black and white luchador mask, the design is simple, indiscriminate, nothing more than a training mask, likely found in barrio events across this country.
Pilot: Welcome to Culiacan, please exit safely and enjoy your stay in Mexico.
Slaughter lifts the hood of His tattered sweatshirt as Serafina quickly slings a red zip-up across her shoulders. They exit the plane, scanning the regional airports welcoming area for their guide. A gray taxi pulls up alongside the plane. A man in a suit throws open the door, prior to the vehicle coming to a full stop, and calls out to them.
Carl Chavez: Mr. and Mrs. Burna! Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Burna, over here please.
Taken aback by the resonation of the mans beckoning, they begin to walk toward him.
Chavez: Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Burna, welcome to Culiacan! I am Carl Chavez, I will be your guide.
Serafina: Sir, we are not Mr. and Mrs. Burna, we are in fact not a couple, we are simply professional colleagues.
Chavez reaches into his suit pocket, revealing a check, made out to himself, endorsed by Ty Burna. Slaughter notices the one and more zeroes following it than He cared to count.
Chavez: Well then, pardon me, this most generous donation was sent to me by Mr. Burna for, shall we say, my guiding services.
Slaughter: And serve you shall, let us begin.
Serafina: Indeed, shall we proceed?
Chavez: Directly.
The three enter the taxi and speed away, making their way toward the citys center, Plazuela Alvaro Obregón.
Within the citys main square, the early morning streets are buzzing with life. Produce and fish markets line the sidewalks while acrobats and musicians attempt to entertain passersby beneath the citys lone marquee billboard. The taxi stops some distance away, as Chavez directs their attention to the scrolling text upon the marquee.
Chavez: They are quite excited.
The marquee reads: Puerto de Altata, esta noche en la oscuridad, el heroe de Culiacan, El Califa Dragon!
Chavez: Tonight at dusk, the hero of Culiacan, El Califa Dragon, will be at the Port of Altata! It surely will be a momentous evening!
Slaughter: Proceed, to the port.
The taxi pulls away as children run alongside, jumping to peer into the poorly tinted windows at the assumed celebrity riding inside.
Chavez: I must ask, sir, if you dont mind, why wear the mask? Are you indeed a luchador del anillo? A wrestler of the ring, such as El Califa?
Serafina: We possess a certain elevated social standing that we wish to carry in anonymity for the duration of our stay in Mexico.
Chavez: And how long do you plan on staying?
Slaughter: Thatll do for the questions.
Serafina bats an eye His way.
Slaughter: IF you dont mind.
Silence is resumed in the vehicle as they venture away from the flatlands of farms and dust toward the coast and the Port of Altata.
He rests His head back against the seat, His eyes dauntingly focused on His task. As His pupils flutter, a picturesque grin overcomes the face of Serafina, seemingly sensing her associates passion for the upcoming events.
Chavez: Pardon me, senor, senorita, we have arrived.
Serafina: Very well, now for a tour?
Chavez: Absolutely, please follow me to the viewing area.
Serafina follows closely behind Chavez, toward a steel railing overlooking the water. Slaughter staggers behind cautiously, aware of His onlookers sneering and questioning the mysterious presence of the masked man. He reaches the railing, standing alongside Serafina, the familiar dull stiffness of the steel fills Him with serenity as He grasps the rail. In the distance atop the water sit three large ships. Each is decorated elaborately, yet distinctly.
Chavez: And here we are, Altatas exhibition of Mexican pride! The three ships you see were donated to the port by the Secretaria de Marina, or Naval Secretariat, which is comprised of civil servants, as well as La Armada de Mexico! The Mexican Navy, as we would call it in the States, is one of the proudest military factions throughout this great country!
The ships were to be used as artifacts of history and patriotismo Mexicano, Mexican patriotism. The first, a tribute to Spanish captain and explorer, Nuno Beltran de Guzman, who founded the post-colonial city of Culiacan in 1531. The simple, yet historical design connotes the feelings of liberation, pride, and independence.
I hope I am not being too elaborate, I do not wish to bore you, but I have studied Mexican history at university since I came here three years ago.
Slaughter: Go on.
Chavez: Very well, sir. The second ship, there to the right, is a monument to Culiacans rich agricultural history! The city has become a main trade center for produce and is known throughout Mexico as one of the finest agricultural regions in the country! Culiacans take great pride in caring for and producing high quality crops, and this ships earthy tones and elaborate scenic murals of the luscious fields of Culiacans finest farms are a tribute to the fine men and women who have dedicated their lives to sustaining others!
Serafina: And the last, I believe thats the one were most interested in, being such fans of his.
Chavez: Ah, yes, perhaps the greatest hero in the history of Culiacan, the final ship is a tribute to El Califa Dragon! See the head of the dragon on the stern of the ship, see how it wears the same mask that El Califa wears? Notice the intricacies of black and white colors, the depictions of the streets, where Califa learned to fight, where he learned to survive. Even though Califa was not from here, he embraced the people of Culiacan as his own, as his family. Notice the flag flying high above the ship, donning a vague depiction of a luchador mask? Legend says that El Califa himself suggested flying this nondescript flag, as a reminder to all the people of Culiacan that anyone can achieve greatness! Anyone can learn to fight like a luchador! El Califa was anyone and he became someone, and he suggested to remind all that they too can follow a similar path.
Serafina: Well, that was quite interesting, Carl. We no longer require your services.
Chavez: May I offer you a ride back into town?
Slaughter: That wont be necessary.
Chavez: Very well, enjoy your stay, and please enjoy tonights ceremony honoring and celebrating Culiacans greatest hero!
Serafina: Goodbye, Carl.
As Chavez scurries back to the cab, touching his pockets as reassurance he had not misplaced his payment, Serafina recognizes the look in the eyes of her associate.
Serafina: Come, Dorian, let us prepare for a celebration.
LATER THAT NIGHT
A buzz of excitement has overcome the large crowd gathered at the port. Awaiting the appearance of their greatest hero, they cheer and chant. Children donning various incarnations of El Califa masks beg their parents to lift them higher so that they may lay eyes upon their idol. The anticipation builds, the port seemingly rocking atop the water, nearly breaking free from the shore as a voice comes over the makeshift announce system.
Announcer: Damas y caballeros, el momento en que ha estado esperando, denle la bienvenida Culiacans mayor heroe, El Califa Dragon!!
The crowd roars as a bright spotlight shines down upon a rock-based staging area at the front of the hordes of people. A figure approaches the light as the cheers become deafening. The figure steps into the spotlighted area, dressed in dingy street clothes, his head hooded and masked. The deafening roar of the crowd beings to subside, eager for their hero to speak, but instead, a familiar voice overtakes the announce system.
Serafina: Ladies and gentlemen, behold, standing in the foreground of your most prestigious artifacts of Mexican culture, the one true hero of Culiacan, El Califa Dragon.
As the figure extends both arms to either side of His body and tilts His head toward the sky, the crowd roars again, albeit slightly less forcefully as some near the stage begin to grumble.
Serafina: How Califa has literally grown. Look at the size of this monstrous man standing before you. Could it be that your hero is also capable of nearly becoming a giant amongst mere men? His imposing stature rivals that of your historic artifacts upon the water. Let us celebrate them, let us celebrate him, let us all celebrate Culiacan!
As she utters the last syllable, the ground rumbles. The rumble is unfamiliar, startling the crowd. As the momentum seems to rise and rise, the crowd quickly falls silent. The spotlight shining over the figure dissipates and is quickly gone. Before the crowd can call out, in the bright spotlights place rises a crimson glow, engulfing the figure standing before the crowd in a deep red light.
The water erupts, then comes the thunder. An explosion of fury, rising from below, surfacing in the distance behind the motionless figure before them. A thick array of flames quickly roars, begging for oxygen to fuel their illumination, enveloping the wooden monuments as helpless onlookers beg for cessation.
The platform is activated, sending the figure before the crowd high into the air. Gazing down upon the ensuing chaos, the figure smiles, his sheepish grin further illuminated by the crimson glow. Throughout the mixture of painstaking screams and shudders of awe, the crowd becomes enraged, calling out to the figure, questioning His true identity as the figure lowers His hood and removes His mask, tossing it down upon the crowd as He calls out to them.
Slaughter: Alas, fear has induced primeval hatred. Look upon the face of death, stand in the shadow of chaos and shudder under the force of my power.
The rage beneath Him continues as the crowd jeers, shifting focus between their enflamed monuments of pride and their deceiver standing over them.
Slaughter: You celebrate this city and your presumed heroes? The same city which flourished not from agriculture, but from underground illicit drug exportation? The same city which housed the Sinaloa Cartel, and subsequently glorified them, even naming their inhabiting state after them? I say to you, Culiacan, you are the scum of this Earth, and I have come as your Redeemer.
The fires rage in the background, the blackness of the sky suppressed by the red-turning-blue flames, increasing in intensity and substance with each passing moment.
Slaughter: You celebrate El Califas life, whereas, I wish to celebrate his death. At Revolution, your hero, your idol, will be burned by the raging fires of my hatred. Your Armada will suffer its most historic defeat at the hands of The Elite. Your titles will be abandoned and laid upon the shoulders of true champions, your sympathizer Matt Tastic will kneel as the Ouija Scroll is unraveled before him. And in the end, there will be no great ships erected in our honor. There will be no parades through city streets, nor murals adorning the walls of towns we pass through. Rather, there will be silence.
A few from the crowd begin to scale the springs which hold Slaughters platform in the air. Struggling to ascend, fueled by the rage of their peers emanating from the crowd.
Slaughter: Be silent!
The crimson light beneath Him vanishes as a second explosion erupts, filling the scene with a thick gray fog. The crowd continues their commotion, blinded now by the lack of light and presence of heavy smoke. The noise is deafening and incessant. Cheers drowned out by faceless cries in the blackness of the night.
The fires have subsided as the fog settles. Still a large number of onlookers remain, unsure or unwilling to leave the scene. As the fog settles, Slaughter is gone from the platform. The blackness of the night sky is deep as burnt embers fall from their former places of importance into the equally black waters below. The noise continues.
With a swift rush of a cold wind and a dim roar, a ball of fire screams through the sky overhead, headed for the area where the great ships fell. It contacts a fuel source just above the water and illuminates the scene once again.
An overwhelming silence overtakes the crowd as the warmth of the new flames shine upon their tear ridden faces. No one makes a sound as the Chaos Symbol burns brightly above a boneyard of torched monuments.
Serafina: Culiacan may return to its previously accepted translation, for the great deceiver has come and gone, leaving only torment and despair in his wake. El Califa, your home may once again, now and forever, be known as the palace of snakes. Behold, a new serpent King rises from the ashes to lay claim to the ruins of your palace.
Slaughter: Califa, behold the broken wills, the tormented spirits of your patrons. Death has become them, as it will become you.
The scene slowly fades out in silence as the Chaos Symbol burns brightly against the thick night sky.
