She recognizes him when he walks in, alongside that grandson of his. A scruffy little fellow, perhaps only just a bit younger than her Django – offspring of her eldest child, Machete. A son sired from Puma Loco, the bastard that had left her at the altar forty-six years ago. But thankfully, he was not the only man she allowed in her love life.

Chapuza. She wants to say his name aloud when addressing the competitors, but she can't. There's hesitation, especially when she looks at him and their eyes - even if just briefly - meet. A phantom pain of sorts in her chest, even though she's got no heart - not an actual, beating one or even the decaying one he has.

She's all bones now, been that way since she had her second child. Her daughter, sired by him - little girl took a lot out of her. And the curse of being banished from the land of the dead by her parents - gods in their own rights, if she recalls; it's been so long she can scarcely remember their faces - finally caught up after that. Her insides decayed, but she hadn't given a damn in that moment when she held her daughter, her preciosa hijita, for the first time.

She still remembers when she came to his door, one hand holding their baby, the other holding a fourteen year-old Machete's hand. She remembers how he opened the door, how his face paled and how he'd looked at the baby.


"She's . . . mine, isn't she?" Chapuza asked slowly.

"Yes, of course she is," Sartana barked, eyes narrowing. She was offended by the very thought he seemed to have, that he would doubt her and think for a second that this girl could be someone else's - "Have you forgotten what we did nine months ago? Or is your brain rotting that much?"

Chapuza snorted. "No, I didn't forget. It's not easy to forget when Sartana of the Dead invites you to her bed." He rolled his eyes and then glanced at Machete, who stared up at him with red beady eyes, seemingly judging.

"Don't talk to Mama that way," said Machete in a low voice, yet somehow threatening.

Chapuza rose his hands. "Calm yourself, boy. I'm not gonna hurt her." His eyes met Sartana's, and she tsked.

"Anyway, I didn't come here to chat. I came here because you need to know that. . .that this child is yours." She hesitated, recalling when Puma Loco had turned her away nine years ago - how he called her a lying puta , cursed at her and threw various things at her. That wouldn't happen again, right? Surely-

Suddenly she felt her daughter's bundle being removed from her arms. She snapped out of her thoughts quickly, noticing that Chapuza had taken the babe into his arms and begun cradling her. She saw a rather warm look on his face, affection in his eyes as they focused on his - no, their child.

"She has my looks," he remarked. The stitches on the girl's head and little arms. . .her pale blue skin. . .her yellowish-red eyes. . .it was all his. But he saw a glint in those eyes, and he knew what it was. "But she's yours too. That look. . .she's Of the Dead."

Sartana tried to put on a boastful appearance. "Of course! She's just like her brother in that she has my spirit," she bragged.

Machete nodded, puffing his chest out, his cyborg arm swinging out as he put his arm up and said, "Viva Familia de los Muertos!"

General Chapuza laughed. "You're raising your son right, I'll give you that." He looked at his daughter again, his expression a little confused. ". . .but if you came here just to let me know she's mine, what do you want out of this?"

Sartana stared at him, raising a brow. "I think you know," she said simply.

Chapuza paused, opened his mouth as if to say something, but then stopped. "Very well. But don't expect me or her to get wrapped up in your revenge schemes." He raised a finger at the skeleton lady.

Sartana snorted. "Don't worry, my revenge schemes have been outlined for a while. She is of no use in that regard, for she's not tied to the Riveras." The surname is spat like bile.

Chapuza nodded. "Alright." He stopped again, raising his brow at her. "But, ah, does she have a name?"

Sartana paused. The silence was strong enough to hear a needle drop. But just as the General was ready to name the child, the skeleton spoke up, "Yareli."

"Huh?"

"Her name is Yareli."

"Yareli. . ." Chapuza repeated. A smile formed on his face. "It suits her." He tickled the baby's chin, gurgles escaping the child.


He was more present for Yareli's life than Puma Loco was ever for Machete's. He doted on her when she was busy with Machete. He took care of her, taught her many things, gave her a chance that Machete would never have - all because he was simply the better hombre that Jorge wasn't.

Yet Sartana never tried to tie the knot, like she had with Jorge. She never really asked Chapuza. Why? It was something she wondered herself. Especially when Yareli would ask why her parents weren't married - somehow tougher to answer than Machete's own question had been.

Perhaps it's because she saw them when she came to pick up Yareli once. When the girl was about seven, her black hair reaching past her shoulders, her yellow and red eyes filled with a delightful joy. Her skin light blue, yet she clapped and jumped with such life while her papa – General Chapuza, leader of zombies – played with her. Sartana saw this and fought a myriad of feelings: a warmth, a jealousy, a longing. She hated herself and him, because they could never really be together – not in the way their daughter wanted – due to their vastly different goals.

General Chapuza could never truly provide Sartana what she wanted: revenge upon Jorge and his family. And she could never really settle for what he wanted, mere games and simple wins – she strove for more. He didn't. And she hated that he was such a good father to their daughter, in ways Jorge was never to Machete – the man she didn't obsess over had to be the right one, while the man she swore herself to end was the wrong one.

She envied Yareli. The girl never asked for anything more in life. She got Chapuza wrapped around her finger. She was treated like a princess, and she would never have to end up as fucked up as her mother, made of mere bones then and now.

He was too good of a father. It baffled her to no end. It still baffles her today, even though Yareli is now thirty-one years of age, younger than Machete's forty-five years.

Yareli's got long hair going past her shoulders, bright eyes, and she's able to camouflage as a human to fit in for a daily job of working at an engineering faculty. She has a decent life – a brighter future than Machete, half-Cyborg, half-skeleton, unable to camouflage and his only future is that of aiding his mother in her plans when he returns.

There was never an animosity between the two in spite of their different parentages, but. . .the way that Chapuza raised Yareli, it boggles Sartana how well he did it. Better than her own parents did with her. After all, good parents don't have daughters that go off and get left at altars, or daughters that have relations with zombies. . .do they?

The girl doesn't live with her mother anymore. She's moved off to Guadalajara for her job. But she still visits, and Sartana sees fragments of normalcy in Yareli, something Machete could never have - and it's all Chapuza's fault. She wants to be petty, to curse him, but she can't. He was too good to their child.


Sartana waits until the gathering is over. Until Django is off with Manny, and all the other villains are off to prepare for the tournament - save one.

Chapuza is startled when Sartana approaches him. "You again," he breathes, eyes tracing her up and down. "It's been years. What do you-?"

A rough chuckle escapes her. "What, I can't say hello to an old amigo?" she asks, cheeky. She glances down and notices Che at his side – a grandchild from his son, only six years older than their hija. "I see you brought the little chico with you."

"I'm not a little chico," Che huffs, affronted by the words. He doesn't seem so threatened by the fact she's a much larger, taller skeleton goddess - sort of goddess; banishment is such a complicated thing - and more so regards her as another undead being. Funny how that works. "I'm almost as tall as Grandpa."

"Che–" Chapuza starts, only to get cut off.

"You've got a bite in you," Sartana laughs, throwing her head back. "He's definitely your grandson alright, General!"

"Sartana. . ." Chapuza trails off, watching as the skeleton lady wipes away a tear. She looks at him, a slight smile on her face - not a joyous one. A serious one, asking, can we talk? "What is it you want? I thought our business was done long ago."

"It's nothing to do with her," Sartana tells him. "If that's what you're thinking." She shifts slightly. "I just - I wanted to . . . talk about us. Where we left off."

Chapuza snorts. "You mean when you decided to end things before we could go anywhere? All because you were caught up in that Puma Loco?" Before she can object, he's ushering Che off. "Mijo, go run along. This talk isn't for someone your age."

"But grandfather-"

"Go!"

Che leaves. Chapuza looks at Sartana again. "You have nerve, Sartana," he hisses out her name like venom. "You and I had something. We raised a kid together - or did you forget that because you couldn't mold her the way you did with that boy of yours? Machete, was he?"

"Si." Sartana doesn't flinch when he glares at her. She merely stares at him. "He's not a niño anymore though. He's got his own son."

"Ah si, si, I saw - Django, that scrawny boy you call a grandson."

"Oye, don't go insulting my grandson now," she huffs. "I don't go doing that to your Che. Besides, he's the nephew of Yareli - he's almost your family."

Chapuza huffs in turn. "Almost. Not quite." He looks away. "Because you never wanted to make it official."

Sartana frowns. "You couldn't give me what I needed - revenge on Jorge. You live so simply and I cannot."

"It's not just that though, is it?" asks Chapuza, raising a brow. "There's more, isn't there?"

Sartana freezes. How can she tell him? That she thought he was too good for her? That she . . . she was afraid, deep down. Years and years of being rejected by one hombre. How could she tell him that she feared one day, he would turn on her? After all, she didn't hold real power over him - not without force. But without her mystic guitar's powers, would he stay long? Would he really make a vow to stay by her side?

He has a grandson now. It is too late to find the truth. Their kids - her son, his son and their shared spawn - they are all grown now. Her nieto Django awaits her at home.

". . .I thought you wouldn't want me."

"What?" His voice fills with shock. His eyes widen. He looks at her incredulously. "What made you think that?"

"Being left at the altar and then tossed aside and left to raise a son alone," Sartana says, eyes narrowed, voice full of hurt. "It does something to your mind. But you wouldn't know that - after all, I invited you to my bed. I let that happen. You didn't think that perhaps, I had fears too?" She turns away. "I am old, Chapuza. So old. I have been through enough."

"So have I!" Chapuza cries, grabbing her hand in his. He's careful with her claws, oh so careful that it makes her shudder. "But I cared enough to help you with our child. Why couldn't you see that I was there, that I was willing?"

Sartana yanks her hand away. "I wasn't going to risk it again," she says harshly. "And . . . I don't need to be tied down."

Chapuza pauses. ". . . then why invite me to the tournament?"

A not-all happy smile crosses the facial features of the skeleton lady, her crooked, yellowed teeth showing. It's a turn off for most guys, but not him - enough to almost make him crack a smile, if not for. . . "I wanted to see if you were worthy," she says, simple.

"Sartana. . ." Chapuza's eyes narrow. "What kind of trick do you play here?"

Sartana places her hand under his chin, her claws tickling at the hair. "I play no tricks, Chapuza," she tells him. "I want to see if you can be my champion."

He raises a brow. "And I do win. . .?"

She shuts her eyes. "We'll see. . .if we can try again."

Silence, and then . . .

"Deal."


* - Sartana's parents are Xibalba and La Muerte. Yes, Book of Life takes place prior to the show's events, long ago. Read up on the wiki.
** - Unnamed Sartana/Chapuza daughter hasn't been brought up since 2008, but the fact the creator mentioned her meant she had a concept outlined; "cute zombie daughter around Maria's age". No design exists but if she's a zombie, then she took after Chapuza a bit in the looks, except of course Sartana's influence is there. She seems, by all intents, to fair better than Machete, Sartana's son with Jorge - who has an actual design for him. Weird how this works. I suppose the 'Of the Dead' bloodline must be predominantly male? Not complaining, it's just a weird choice.

I don't know if I like how this ended but this has been in the drafts for a while so...here you go