(A/N: Because FUCK DC. Diablo didn't die. They spent the whole movie making me love him, and then they kill him in that bullshit way?! AND I'M LATINA? No no no. My heart was bleeding after the end of Suicide Squad, so this is my way of self medicating LOLZ. Contains an OC, but well written and relevant, I swear. Reviews would be AWESOME, though.)
In Aztec mythology, Xiuhtecuhtli was the god of fire, day and heat. He was the lord of volcanoes, the personification of life after death, warmth in cold, light in darkness.
Vengeful and powerful, he was also known to be a god of Duality that often walked the earth after the sun went down, seeking out flames to devour and young mortal women in which to enflame desire.
Those brave enough to follow his charred footsteps into the desert were said to find power and prosperity on the other side- and occasionally, passion.
The creature was not one for reflection or remembrance, but as it wandered endlessly through sun bleached valleys and bare dunes, it couldn't help but think longingly of times past when the world was savage and harsh, when the ancients had control over all and those who were inferior knew their place as lowly devotees and sacrificial fodder.
The creature was strong then, unfettered and free in its domain over all that burned. Blood had flown freely from still beating hearts, nourishing it with a steady supply of life and vitality, and it's power was so absolute that it could torch forests and set lakes alight simply by force of whim.
Now, though... Now it stumbled desperately through the wild, barely strong enough to set scraps of kindling ablaze in order to keep its host from passing into the next life night after night.
Had it not been for the will of the human it was bound to, it would have gladly accepted the offer of the younger beings and allowed this new world to rot. But that was its curse- once so powerful and commanding, made slave to the emotions of the host who possessed the warrior blood, but clearly not the spirit.
It had been forced to fight to save a world it despised and received exile in return.
The creature was as old as existence, spawned from the first spark at the dawn of time. But with each new host its power grew fewer and fewer, and the younger god had nearly bested it in their contest. The human weapon hadn't killed it- forged from flame and heat, how could it?- but the host was another matter.
It had taken almost all of the creature's strength to bring the man back from the brink of destruction and reform them both, bond intact (for without the bond the creature would cease to be), at the place where the creature had first existed.
It had been dismayed and enraged to find its once beautiful kingdoms ravaged. Toluca, Ocuilan, even the once grand Tenochtitlan, all overridden and destroyed by the oppressive stink of humans and human machines, warped into mortal breeding grounds.
Too weak to raze them to ashes and with the gates of Omeyocan closed to the creature forever, they could only wander away from civilization, man by day and creature by night.
The man sought only peace, but the creature needed power. The priests and sorcerers that would have given it their energy were eons gone and their blood was diluted into nothingness. Their descendants were useless.
And yet what it needed was there, far away from the smog of human greed and weakness. The smallest whiff past the horizon, reminiscent of one the creature had once known and stood beside as a master of all, sweet and tantalizing and begging to be absorbed.
So on they marched- the man towards oblivion, and the creature towards power and revenge.