DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.


"This is why I stick to wagers," Xibalba muttered. "All of the fun and none of the formality."

With the four accused uncomfortably sandwiched between Mictlan and Tlaloc, the deities formed a single-file procession down the passageway. It went in a straight line for an apparent eternity before suddenly dipping and twisting like a rabbit hole. Then they were shuffling along a square staircase that spiraled deep into the earth, each turn abrupt and sharp. The only light was the faint flickers of La Muerte's candles, forcing those in front to feel their way along the damp walls.

Joaquin could have sworn the water god was breathing down his neck, if it was capable of breathing at all. Manolo and Maria reached for each others' hands and gripped them until it hurt. Xibalba stared at the back of Mictlan's head as though he was trying to shoot a stream of fire through it. So much so, in fact, that it took him half a second to realize when his brother had stopped walking. "What?" he snapped as he readjusted himself, trying to ignore the dozens of eyes trained on him.

Mictlan didn't seem to care. "Remarkable how little he's changed, isn't it?"

He had brought them to the bottom of the stairs, and now they were standing before a pair of tall stone doors. Mictlan gave them a light tap, and they swung inwards. "My kings. I bring before you my brother and his mortals."

They were entering a large, circular room with a low ceiling and torches lining the wall. The colors of the surface were gone, replaced by dark gray bricks. A giant carving of the serpent from before wove its way around the torches and wrapped around the room. In the center of the floor, there was no floor. Instead there was a wide, deep pit that came close to spanning the length of the room. The only thing preventing some clumsy soul from falling into it was a thin metal fence that spiked and spiraled up from the cracks in the stones. Around the pit in almost a full circle was a shallow moat filled with clear water. It pulsed and swelled as the group approached. Up rose the twelve water spirits from before, assuming feminine forms with flowing hair, sharp features and icy stares. They were joined by a thirteenth, one with a familiar face and an awkward wave for the three mortals.

"Fool!" the spirits on either side of her hissed, splashing her skin as they slapped her.

Ixa shrank a bit and bowed her head. "My apologies."

On the other side of the pit, a fenced dais jutted up and stretched out over the abyss. Atop it perched a figure who was smaller than most of gods but still taller than the mortals. Black scales covered his body, highlighting the yellow stripe running across his face. He was dripping with feathers and jewels, and his bright green eyes lit up at the sight of the group. When he spoke, his voice was more of an airy hiss. "Where are they?"

Mictlan stepped aside, gesturing to the quartet. "Here, Tezcatlipoca."

Rolling his eyes, Xibalba wiggled the fingers of his right hand in a sort of wave. "Afternoon, Tezzy. Is your brother awake? We'd all like to get this over with."

The four of them flinched, but just barely, as Tezcatlipoca sneered and flicked his forked tongue at them. "Quetzalcoatl awaits. Step forward."

"Go on, queridos," La Muerte told the mortals when they looked back at her. "He won't hurt you."

Holding their breaths, the three friends walked with Xibalba to the edge of the pit, grabbed the railing and peered into the nothingness.

They only saw a void of shadows and the faint outlines of jagged rocks. But then, from deep within they abyss, they thought they felt something move. A very large, very slow something. Then they could hear a soft, deep rumbling from within the pit and see the loose rocks surrounding the edge start to tremble. A shape lighter than the darkness was materializing from the shadows bit by bit, until it finally reared its gigantic, colorful head.

The top of Quetzalcoatl alone made the rest of the gods look like ants. Patches of dark scales were faintly visible beneath the explosion of feathers that covered his body. Bright reds and deep blues, forest greens and maize yellows, sunset oranges and royal purples. He slowly opened his two great eyes, and his irises were shifting between the various colors of his feathers. When he saw the mortals, his slitted pupils widened. "Little ones. Welcome."

The mortals' knees buckled and gave way, and even Xibalba found himself wanting to look at the floor.

"I have heard much about you three in the past days," the plumed serpent continued. His mouth did not open: rather, his voice seemed to come from every place at once and reverberate in their skulls. "And you, Xibalba. It has been many centuries since the last time you graced my home."

"Something like that…"

"I understand you are here because of another wager."

"A wager I held up my end of, by the way. Don't I get points for that?"

Tezcatlipoca hissed at him. "Not when you have lost to a lowly human…!"

Quetzalcoatl growled. "Silence, brother. You may speak when I have finished."

The smaller deity scowled but remained silent. "Very well."

With a hum of approval, Quetzalcoatl returned his attention to his guests. "Tell me more of this wager."

Xibalba chuckled and let it trail off. "It's a pleasant but very long story…"

"He tricked me into taking my own life," Manolo said quietly.

The corner's of Tlaloc's lips turned up in a malicious grin. "And with what ease did he manage that?"

"I'd rather not…"

"Out with it!"

"Let him be, Tlaloc. We are concerned only with the matter of the second wager." Quetzalcoatl focused on Manolo. "You said you died, and let you kneel before me a living man."

"He said I would live again if I completed a task of his."

"And was this task fairly done to Lord Xibalba's satisfaction?"

"Technically, yes," the winged god answered. "I did my part, and now here he is. Yaaay, happy ending. Can we all go home now?"

"All was restored to its former order? As it was meant to be?"

Manolo's throat seemed to close up, locking the words inside. "Well…it's…it's not really as simple as that." He realized that his friends were both staring at him and cast his eyes downward.

A murmur ran through the assembled deities. "He is not telling us all that he knows!" Tohil proclaimed. "We cannot let him walk free!"

"Their story is no different than what I've been telling you all along!" La Muerte snapped at him.

Another growl from Quetzalcoatl, and they all fell silent once more. "Enough," he said. "I wish to hear no more of your petty arguments."

Joaquin finally dared to speak up. "Does that mean we're okay?"

"That," said the plumed serpent, "I cannot yet see. I wish to judge you further."

"What?" the quartet blurted out before they could stop themselves.

Flashing his grin, Mictlan stepped forward. "My king," he said, "surely you do not mean to judge them this instant. What if they proved unworthy?"

"He is right, brother," said Tezcatlipoca, emerging from the shadows once more. "For your own safety, their merit must be determined." He shot a look at the Candle Maker, who was clearly on the verge of saying something. "Passage into the Cave of Souls is one thing. Judgement from the king of the gods himself is another."

Quetzalcoatl's eyelids drifted half-closed, as though he was falling deep into thought. "I fear not for my safety. But the ancient rules must be upheld."

The silence from the crowd was broken by a sharp, cruel peal of laughter. "You think I'm too stupid to get it? I know about those trials. I know what happened to everyone who tried them. And now you're going to put a group of mortals through them?"

"I thought you were no friend of mortals, Xibalba," said Tohil.

"And I thought this was about being fair."

"Indeed it shall be. The mortals shall not be judged alone, for you shall guide them."

"Now that's what I…" Xibalba paused as the words sank in. "…Perdón?"

"True," said Tezcatlipoca. "But the trials must be solved by one's wit and not by power." Smiling, he looked at Xibalba and snapped his fingers.

"Don't you dare - " Xibalba's threat ended in a cry of pain as he doubled over, gasping for breath. One feather fell off his wings, then two, and then a whole clump.

La Muerte tried to rush forward and had to be held back by Xochi and Kisin. "Balby…!"

Now his wings were practically shredding themselves apart. He sank to the ground as they were reduced to two piles of feathers on the ground. His crown vanished in a puff of smoke, and his snake went slithering off into the shadows.

"Lord Xibalba," said Tezcatlipoca, "you are stripped of your powers until you and your mortals complete the ancient trials and are judged by my brother. If you are found deserving of them, they shall be returned to you. If not, your brother Mictlan shall wield them from henceforth."

La Muerte's hands flew to her mouth. "No…"

"That is not a facet of the ancient rules, brother - "

"We shall discuss it further," said Tezcatlipoca. "The matter is settled. The trials shall commence tomorrow morning."

"And that," said Xibalba, "is why I don't come up here anymore."

The shellshocked mortals barely heard him. "Dios mio…"


"Yeah, no kidding!" the goth boy exclaimed. "They were, like, totally ganging up on you and stuff! And now they wanna kill you! AAAAHHH!"

"Oh, however will that turn out."

Sasha stared up at him worriedly. "But did Manolo and Maria and Joaquin make it out?"

The death god sighed. "I'd like to say yes. But then our story wouldn't be nearly as fun, now would it?"