• The Sacrifice

    By Epic Irony


    “Foolish mortal!” The child screamed from atop the table. Pencils and brushes rolled from the shaking, a cup of green paint spilling across the boy’s shoes unnoticed. “You cannot punish me! I am Mictlan, god of death, devourer of stars!” He raised two fists into the air, the children surrounding him squealing with bloodthirsty delight.

    “Johnny, get down from there!” The teacher said, pointing a mildly threatening finger at the boy. “And the rest of you! Please be quiet!” It was less of a suggestion than an order; but, lacking confidence, her words were drowned out by the pandemonium. Realizing her request had failed, she decided to fall back on time-trusted kindergarten-disciplining techniques. “You’d better get down from there, right now!” She yelled, pointing again at the small dark haired child raising hell in her classroom. “You’re in big trouble, young man!”

    “Pathetic human! I am above your petty laws, beyond your insignificant existence! You cannot punish the likes of a god!” Johnny screamed, hands raised above his head, palms outstretched and fingers writhing as if he would catch the sky. “Tremble before me, woman! Cower in fear! Your end is coming, and your death will give me life!”

    “Johnny. This isn’t funny anymore. You’d better get down from there… This instant,” the young teacher said hesitantly, her eyes glancing towards the door. A group of children had surrounded it, tossing a table in front and locking it. Another two had conspired to tear the phone from the wall- she was trapped in a room of crazed children. This was more than she bargained for, signing up to be a substitute art teacher. For kindergarten! And she was finally afraid.

    “Now, my children! Spill her blood! Bring me her heart!” Johnny/Mictlan shouted, his voice suddenly an octave deeper. His eyes had changed- they were glowing red faintly, as was his entire body. His hair stood on end, and he almost appeared to be floating inches above the table… But the rest of the kids had worked up into too much of a frenzy to notice. They approached the teacher eagerly, little faces gleaming with a feral delight.

    As she cowered behind her desk, she suddenly realized something that was perhaps even more terrifying. The children had fallen eerily silent, as opposed to the ruckus before. Spell-bound, she moved from behind her desk to examine the phenomenon. They stood dumb-struck, staring at the impossible scene before them.

    Johnny had ascended from the table, floating inconceivably three feet above the ground. This wasn’t a game anymore. The children, who had moments ago been staring intently at the impossible child, now turned simultaneously to her.

    “Yes,” a thousand voices tore from Johnny’s throat, cracks in his skin splitting and exuding blood-red light. “Send her soul to me!”

    They were upon her in an instant. Twenty-four little ferocious monsters toppled her, throwing her to the desktop. The child who was now more god than mortal reached into his pocket, removing a large ceremonial dagger. Sacred artifact in hand, Mictlan approached the makeshift altar.

    He held the dagger above his head, a five inch obsidian blade, a jagged sheet of black glass with quartz teeth lining either side. His other hand raised slowly to meet it; upon his face, a look of pure ecstasy jumping from his own countenance to that of the rest of the class. Their complete mimicry was perhaps the most terrifying thing yet; dozens of little dull faces suddenly brightening up. Dead eyes suddenly twinkling with malicious intent, all identically relishing in the idea of spilling blood. Her blood.

    The dagger plunged into the woman’s chest, a sickening crunch resounding as her sternum was cleaved in two. Her blood-curdling screams didn’t even register on the demented minions. Mictlan’s skin began splitting along the veins, crumbling away as his hands met blood. The red light pulsing through the cracks bathed the room in an eerie glow, streaming now from every orifice.

    With three ragged, barbaric movements, hands shaking with adrenaline, the boy god removed her still-beating heart. He raised it to his face grinning victoriously as he sunk his sharp little teeth into the red lump of flesh. The organ squelched as he chomped into it like an apple. He swallowed the bloody chunk, grinning fatally as blood trickled down his chin. The cracks in his skin widened and spread rapidly, pouring out more and more intense red light, before he finally exploded in a brilliant shower of gore.

    In his place when the light dimmed, a god stood. Six foot four at least, slight but athletic build. Dark skin and darker hair, in a ponytail with bone splinters holding it in place. He wore no shirt, but had a string of skulls and fingers draped around his neck. The bottom pendant was a human eyeball, still glancing around the room rapidly. Bone splinters also pierced either side of his lips, and blood-red tribal war-paint adorned his face in various stripes. A single line of black ran from one cheekbone to the other, across his nose and under colorless black eyes. They stared with a cold, somewhat distant approval at his minions. They had served his purpose, but now outlived their usefulness.

    A wave of his hand obliterated the world. An immense maelstrom raged above the ruined planet, a swirling storm of crimson and black. The pathetic race was finally his. Sacrificed for a greater good.

    Mictlan had returned.