Scarface: Another Chance

I don't own either Gate(the anime) or Scarface(the movie).

Get off my back puto.

Tony had fucked up. There was no other way to describe it, minimize it, spin it. He had simply… fucked up. The mansion was being raided, his men being slaughtered, his wife missing, best friend killed by his own hand, and sister riddled with bullets meant for him. The flames licking at the heels of this rapidly crumbling empire would soon leave nothing but smoldering ash for Hector Sosa to build over.

But none of that lessened the fury Montana was raining on his would-be assassin's. Standing amidst the pile of corpses outside his once pristine office, Tony made a declaration of malice and rage, "You wanna take me, gonna need a whole fuckin' army you gonna take me."

Climbing through the window of the office, Sosa's number two carried a shotgun in his leather bound paws. His mission was simple, to put two slugs in the little cubans back. Stepping around the desk strewn with coke, wads of cash, and a half finished evening drink, Skull laid eyes on his target. Tony was too busy mowing down the hired muscle to notice his presence. As he crept forward with a stony expression, the killer found himself scoffing at the insolence this monkey had displayed in defiance to his boss.

But this is where the strands of fate were severed, not by the hand of god, but the scythe of one in need of a champion. The glass of liquor atop the desk started to slide toward the edge, impressions of a skeletal hand pressed into the mountain of powder as if someone or something was leisurely leaning against the side. The crystal dipped over the end and met the black granite floor, shattering into a million pieces and breaking the silence at Tony's back.

The sudden clatter alerted Tony, who turned around without hesitation and squeezed the well oiled trigger to his M16A1. Skull had the briefest moment to look surprised before his face and torso disappeared into a red mist. Realizing his enemies were closing in around him and his men wouldn't hold under the onslaught for long, Tony switched into survival mode. As he descended the stairs and passed through the parlor he found one of his men holding out inside the downstairs study. The main entrance had started to burn, leaving the grand arches to crumble into a pile of flames and rubble that at least covered Tony's ass from any flanking attempt.

"Mr. Montana!" cried the henchman as he recognized his employer by his expensive suit covered now in blood and soot. Tony grunted in acknowledgement as he double checked his magazine. The young man's name escaped his memory.

"Where are my men?!"

He tried to keep the bloodlust out of his question but could see that failed as the kid flinched before casting his eyes toward the maroon carpet covered in shell casings.

"Dead Mr. Montana…" barely passed through his lips as a whisper, "they're all dead except me. We got called to the front gate to check out a suspicious van parked near. When Kiki tapped on the glass to make them roll down the window the damn thing exploded. By the time my ears stopped ringing we could hear the firefight raging out in the garden. We fought our way back here through the tunnel but got picked off on the way."

Tony's eyes softened for the briefest of moments. Initially he had feared betrayal to be the cause of this breach, but it seemed his faith had not been misplaced. The sheer amount of resources Hector was throwing at the attempt on his life had simply overwhelmed his paltry defenses. Instead now Tony felt shame for not being better prepared. He had lead his boys into the fucking woodchipper and they had gladly followed out of loyalty.

But wallowing in these feelings wouldn't help him now. No, now he had to be the tiger his enemies feared and his allies rejoiced. He was Tony Fuckin Montana, nothing a little brush with mortality and danger could or would ever change. Placing his hand upon the shoulder of the boy, Tony gave a single squeeze as he said, "You did good man, you did good. Now we gotta go before those pinche cockroaches find another hole to worm in."

This shook his underling out of his tumultuous thoughts as he looked up in awe at the cool wave of confidence the boss emanated with his words. The shivering hands wrapped around the well used Uzi submachine gun steadied gradually. Slowly exhaling a breadth, the kid nodded and made his way over the false bookshelf. Before he could pull the disguised handle to open the secret passage to the escape tunnel a rough hand rested on his own. "Doorways are how culo's die in a gunfight, never stand directly in front of one hermano."

As if to prove his point, movement could be heard on the other side of the books, faint but there. The kid stepped to the side as Tony shouldered his rifle towards the wall. With a silent nod they both let a rip with automatic fire chewing through the wood and earning a wet thump on the other side. The holes started to leak red as Tony reached for the lever and pulled. A groan of gears signaled the door to slide away revealing another of Sosa's men slumped against the wall, his chest resembling swiss cheese.

Voices further down the stairs informed of a less than friendly crowd waiting for the two of them. Before descending into the dimly lit reaches, Tony patted down the fresh corpse for ammunition and any additional weapons. Luckily, this stiff had a Walther PPK tucked into one of his boots, with five magazines stuffed into various pockets on the crimson soaked cargo shorts. Feeling a little more secure in the prospect of further engagements, Tony took slow steps down the concrete staircase. When he and the kid made it to the bottom they had to duck into a storage room off to the right as the air filled with streaks of lead. Three voices shouted further down the hall in mocking as the sound of empty clips clattered against the ground followed by the racking of charging handles.

"Fuck, they have us pinned Mr. Montana! What are we going to do now?!"

"We gonna remind those stupid fucks that this is still my house. What's your name nino?" Tony peaked around the corner, noting the positions of the gunmen.

"M-my name?" stuttered the kid.

"No, the other guy. Of course you cabrone!" Tony didn't have time for stupid questions.

"It's Angelo. Angelo Perra, Mr. Montana."

"Okay, Angie I need you to distract them for me. You hear them try to close the distance you stick around the corner and give your piece a nice squeeze. I'll take care of the rest." With that Tony left for further into the storage room.

Angie pressed against the wall and listened for footsteps in between the volleys of fire. At every pause he would swing his arm out and spray haphazardly down the corridor. It had worked in slowing their killer's advance but also drained what little ammunition he had retained on his fight back to the mansion. At the conclusion of this latest barrage he repeated his actions only to hear a dreadful click in absence of the bullets he needed. Laughter could be heard only a few feet away before the gunfire resumed.

But instead of rounding the corner to finish him off, a tan hand fell beside the doorway, its weapon clattering across the floor towards Angelo's feet. Chancing eminent damnation he peaked around the corner to only gasp at the carnage before him. The three that had pinned him down were all face down, blood already pouring from the holes. The initial count had been off, as Tony pressed the barrel lengthwise against the throat of the fourth gunman. The feeble attempts to push him off his prey were for naught as a visceral crunch was heard.

Tony ignored the limp body as he looked back towards Angelo who wore a stunned expression at the efficiency displayed. The rumors about his time in the cuban special forces seemed to be more than rumors. Shaking away the shock, Angelo regrouped with Tony. Together the two of them scavenged what they could from the recently deceased. The searching resulted in a resupply sufficient enough to make their escape.

The smell of smoke was mixing with the coppery flavor of the blood. By the ever increasing temperature it could be assumed the fires from the entrance had started to spread to the rest of the mansion. The sound of reinforcements echoed through the hall, indicating a rapidly approaching group triple the size of their last skirmish. They were running out of time, options, and air. But before Tony could order a noble last stand in the face of his and Angelos imminent demise a voice whispered to him, "Giving up already Antonio?"

The chill that crawled down his spine as Tony turned to locate the voice felt like a cold breath. He turned back and raised an eyebrow to Angelo, but the kid had obviously not heard the voice.

Great, now I'm breathing in so much smoke I'm hallucinating. Tony thought to himself.

Or you could already be dead. Bleeding out face down in that little fountain of yours. Wouldn't that be a shame? The voice spoke again, this time directly into Tony's mind.

What the fuck, who the fuck is this. Tony looked around wildly trying to locate the voice.

It doesn't matter so much who I am. When what I am is so much more important. The voice chuckled with a wilting breath.

And what exactly are YOU? His patience was wearing thin. Tony could hear the Bolivian cussing not far from their position now. Soon they would be upon them in droves.

I am a friend, and by the looks of things you seem like you could use one, badly. So what do you say Senor Montana? Die in the basement of a burning palace, or live to bring your enemies crashing down in a crescendo of violence and death?

Tony was still for a moment as he thought of his options, or lack thereof. He didn't trust the voice, not for a second. But it wasn't just his ass on the line. Angelo had begun firing around the corner to slow the response they had garnered. As he pulled his arm back a round tore through the forearm causing him to drop his gun out of reach. He wearily looked back towards Tony, "What now Mr. Montana?"

Finally Tony responded to the voice, What do you want?

The voice laughed before regaining control, I want a champion, an ambassador, a soldier, a son. I want you Tony. We would have so much fun. I can offer you power, strength, revenge, and love. All I ask for in return is your life. Give yourself to me Mijo and you will put Sosa's head on a platter.

That was all it took to push him to making a decision. Despite his reservations, this voice was promising everything he could ever want. He wet his lips as he answered in exhale, "Fine. I'm yours. But there is one thing I demand."

Oh and what would that be my dear?

"No women and no kids, I don't need that shit in my life."

I wouldn't have it any other way mi perro quito. That code of yours is after all why I chose you. Now, take your plus one and walk through the door.

Tony was about to ask what door when the wall across from him started to warp and reshape until the unpainted cement was replaced with an ornate looking door, a jeweled doorknob in the shape of a skeletal fist twisted at the side by an invisible force and creaked open eerily. While he was apprehensive about the ominous entryway Tony had run out of options. Bending down to put Angelo's wounded arm over his shoulder, he helped the man to his feet before walking through the door into the dark. Behind them they heard a door slam. Whatever devil Tony had made a deal with had provided the escape they desperately needed, even as Tony wondered what exactly it had cost himself.

Back inside the mansion the group of assassins rounded the corner guns drawn to find nothing but flames, smoke, and bodies. The desire to search the surroundings further was discarded as more parts of the mansion started to tear away underneath the enveloping inferno. Wherever their mark had hidden, they figured the chaos around them would finish him off. They made their exit just as the police started to swarm the grounds. On the way toward the escape boats one of the men pulled out a satellite phone and dialed the number they had all collectively memorized.

"Hello?" was spoken curtly with an heir of superiority.

"It's done Mr. Sosa. The mansion is in ruins, Montana's men are all dead, his businesses ours for the taking. We couldn't find the body, but rest assured there is no way he escaped that blaze."

"Good. Teaches the little monkey." A sharp click indicated the end of the call. With one final glance back at the growing bonfire, the henchman entered the boat with the others.

The tunnel stretched on for what seemed like forever. The strange lights that danced across the walls reminded him of the northern lights he had witnessed when taking Elvira on their honeymoon to Iceland. He couldn't help but wonder about her wellbeing even after everything that had transpired between them. In hindsight it was obvious their entire relationship had been unhealthy; Having to murder your wifes previous husband would undoubtedly lead to some trust issues down the road. The drugs and the ego power trip didn't help foster stability either.

In the moment she was but a beautiful unattainable dream, as cold and serene as a raging blizzard. Once he'd attained that dream, the harsh reality of their flaws was laid bare before him. She was shallow, vain, egotistical, condescending, and quick to anger. Maybe that was what had drawn him in, this sense of a kindred spirit. But the major schism between the two formed when the subject of children came up. She was disgusted by the idea; Thankfully the coke and alcohol prevented any unforeseen accidents from occuring.

With how long his grip on Miami lasted it seemed that it was for the best after all. This latest development only further reinforced that thought; The idea of putting his own flesh and blood into such peril made the knot in Tony's stomach tighten. The groaning from Angelo pulled Tony from his thoughts as he glanced down at the pale henchman; Bleeding had stopped but the man looked as white as a bed sheet. At this rate Tony would be dragging along a cold bag of bones instead of a man. Luckily the tunnel started to brighten indicating they were getting close. Close to what exactly remained to be seen.

The strange glass walls with the dancing lights faded into adobe style plaster, the faintest of pink like rose petals. Suddenly the pair came to another door; this one was far less decorated than the previous. The material looked old and bleached like beach driftwood. The planks were held together by rusty metal hinges. The only thing off putting of the entrance were the thousands of skulls meticulously carved out of the wood; Some smiled and others glared.

As Tony reached for the handle the door swung open on its own as if a powerful wind had forced it. Taking a minute to shield his eyes against the harsh light, Tony dragged Angelo into what felt like the warm rays of the sun. As he blinked away the glare his eyes widened in disbelief. The men stood in what looked like a Spanish conquistadors library. The walls adorned themselves in books, weapons, statues, and art.

No particular culture was favored; Egyptian statues stood next to French paintings. Bastard swords of varying length shared rack space with stone hatchets, katanas, and even Hitlers own buzzsaw (an MG42). Finally raising his eyes toward the ceiling, Tony understood why the light source felt like the sun, because it was. Above them the walls rose until fading into a beautiful blue sky with an unmistakable yellow orb in the center. Clouds rode unfelt gusts of wind to lazily navigate the azul canvas.

The squeak of a rocking chair shook the Cuban from the dazzling sight. On the far end of the room, in front of a crackling fire, sat what appeared to be a woman in a dark purple shawl with gold stars spread across the velvet material. The border of the cloth was an intertwining of bright red and dark green. Even as they loudly walked across the stone floor the woman didn't change her leisurely pace of tilting back and forth and back again. Finally the creaking of the wood wore down Tony's last nerve.

Dropping the rifle, Tony pulled the pistol from his belt and pointed it toward the mysterious woman, "Okay chica, no funny business. Now you tell me exactly where we are, WHO you are, and what THE FUCK IS GOING ON OR I'M GONNA TEAR APART THIS LITTLE LIBRARY OF YOURS!"

At this the woman finally ceased her movements and slowly began to stand from her seat, "And how exactly would you do that without a weapon Antonio?"

To prove her wrong Tony attempted to squeeze off a warning shot above her head, instead his fist clenched around empty air. The pistol had simply vanished from his grip. He looked from his digits back to the shrouded woman, only to see her delicately examine the firearm with a tender reverence. Her back still faced him but he could see her hands, or at least what was left of them. The revealed digits danced in the firelight, bleach white bone.

This sight froze his blood and nailed him to the spot. The figure gradually started to turn, showing more and more of herself until she stood face to face with him. She brought up a hand to softly giggle behind it, "Cat got your tongue nino?"

He could do nothing but stare into the eyes of the woman, or where her eyes would have been had she not been a skeleton with beautiful jewels covering her like a thousand glittering raindrops. The diamonds caught the light of the fire and danced sparkles across the room. Tony blinked and she was no longer by the fireplace but a hair's breadth from his lips, gently tracing the scar of his eye with her bony fingers. This snapped Tony from his trance as he stumbled back and bumped against a table, dropping Angelo to the floor. Instead of pouncing upon him like a demon to feast upon his soul, the woman knelt down toward the unconscious heap Angel had become.

"Hey don't you fuck with him!" broke from Tony as his nerves came back.

The woman didn't bother to acknowledge the threat as she took the injured arm and wrapped it in her cloak, "Stop being so silly, I'm helping him. Now come here. I need your help if you want this man to live."

After some deliberation, Tony moved cautiously over to the side of the strange creature and knelt next to Angelo. The figure presented an open palm and gestured for Tony to give her his hand. Reluctantly he followed her instructions, only to hiss as a cut passed over his ring finger and dripped onto the robe. Before Tony could wind up for a haymaker to knock this bitch's head off a bright flash of light blinded his eyes. Blinking away the spots in his retinas, Tony laid eyes upon Angelo's bullet wound.

Or at least he looked to where it had been. In place of the hole of muscle and ligaments stood a pale circular scar the size of a quarter. Angelo's breathing had also evened out, much calmer than the ragged gasps for air beforehand. Tony scanned the room to find the strange woman idly toying with his rifle laid across her lap as she sat on one of the wooden desks scattered around the room. Her legs swung with childlike whimsy while going over the military hardware.

After confirming Angelo wasn't in any present danger, Tony stood up and quietly walked toward the sentient skeleton. When his shadow fell over her frame she stopped her idling curiosity and set it aside before tapping the spot next to her. Slowly he leaned against the desk, gaze cast toward his ruined dress shoes.

Tony mumbled something, fainter than a flies scream.

"What was that dear?"

Fighting the flushed sensation on his warm face, Tony choked out again, "Thank you for saving Angie."

"Oh that, it was nothing." She waved vaguely in the air, "Besides I couldn't stand those sad brown eyes of yours mijo."

At this statement she leaned over to rest her head against his shoulder. Tony straightened at the intimate gesture but didn't move away. His eyes betrayed the storm of confusion swirling behind them. Some of the puzzle pieces had fallen into place on the identity of his otherworldly savior. But the answer only led to more questions.

A gentle nudge brought his mind back into focus, but he didn't turn his head toward her. "You know who I am now don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then say my name."

"You are the skinny lady, the pale woman, the final winter." He trailed off with somberly.

"Say it." her voice was laced with excitement.

"Santa Muerte, saint of holy death." With those words Tony started to understand the severity of the deal he had agreed to. But no one would ever say Tony Montana went back on his word. So with a stony resolve he finally leaned away from her touch as he looked into her swallowing gaze. "What do you need from me? I'm just a bad guy."

At this she lightly swatted his chest with her hand, "Far from it. You are THE bad guy Antonio." He wanted to respond but found himself alone again.

Looking around, Tony relocated the saint tracing the brushstrokes on one of the many paintings adorning the wall. Upon closer examination he recognized the figure as Joseph Stalin, the infamous Soviet man of steel.

"Anyone can be bad Tony." her fingers stopped idly caressing the canvas before the painting burst into bright blue flames. The figure of the long dead dictator started to thrash and cry within the confines of the frame before withering away to dust with the rest of the picture. Instead of spreading toward the other hanging portraits, the blue flames slithered down the wall to rest in the palm of Santa Muerte's hand before extinguishing, "But I need a killer with a heart."

She turned toward the former kingpin, radiating a morbid yet beautiful presence. "You see, there is a distant land suffering under one such mongrel. If I sent a hero, they might be foolish enough to show mercy to the cursed wretch. No," She shook her head at the thought, " I need someone who can get dirty, elbow deep in blood, but pull themselves back from the edge."

"The Edge?"

"Yes Tony, the edge. That fine line in the sand between an attack dog and a wild animal. I need a tiger that will protect the helpless lambs as it disembowels the wolf and his pack. You know when you proved to me you were the right choice?"

Tony reflected for a moment before his eyes glinted with understanding, "The reporter."

"Exactly mi corazon. While your business partners had no hesitation to murder an innocent woman and child to keep their power, you stood in opposition. You put the lives of the lamb above the hunger of the wolves. When you stopped Sosa's plans you proved worthy."

"Worthy of what?" His voice was steady now, but it had a hint of frustration shadowing every syllable. Thinking back on that day in New York city brought him the same feeling of disgust he felt when the little girl had first entered the car. The stupid fuck with the switch had left him no choice. To be haunted by such a heinous act would have made Tony turn his barrel on himself after killing Sosa's man.

The shuffling of paper roused him from his memories and forced him back into the conversation, "Worthy of being my apostle. You see, sometimes us cosmic beings pluck one of you mortals from the physical plane and instill a part of our power inside them to carry out our will. You should be familiar with at least one."

The stack of papers she had been leafing through settled as she presented an old yellowed scroll toward Tony. He took the parchment and unfurled it to reveal an ink sketch of Genghis Khan, a scowl worn upon the conqueror's short face. "No fucking way. You mean that chinko was one of your soldatos?"

Santa Muerte laughed lightly at the crude statement before nodding, "Indeed. He was cruel to his enemies and kind to his people. Quite handsome I might add. But with power he changed as the years flew by, becoming colder, more distant, more corrupt. When I took my power back it was to stop him from razing Europe to the ground. I'm hopeful you will be more humble with your newfound strength."

Tony set aside the paper and stood from his leaning position. While his head was a maelstrom his heart beat steadily. Despite the supernatural strangeness surrounding him, Tony wasn't afraid. In fact, he could feel the ghost of a smile spread across his features. "Okay, you want me. You got me. Straight to the top, no fucking stops."

This seemed to please the saint as she walked back towards the still sleeping Angelo. The man had settled into a deep sleep, no indication of pain marred his features. Taking one of the throw pillows from her chair, she gently lifted his head before placing the cushion underneath it. While stroking his forehead as a mother would comfort a sick child she spoke, "Now that you and I are on the same page, we should begin the ritual."

The fire died down, as if a cold bucket of water splashed across the logs. Then the stones that made up the steaming hearth started to shift and turn until a torchlit corridor stood where the fireplace once was.

Standing from her crouched position Santa Muerte made a step into the hallway before turning back toward Tony, "Come, so I may make you a god amongst men Antonio."

Tony's eyes flicked over the Angies form for a brief moment. As if reading his mind the saint added, "He will be fine in these chambers, right now he needs rest."

Finally noticing the ache in his muscles from his desperate escape Tony groaned, "Fuckin great, princessa gets some beauty sleep while the boss works."

"Like I said Tony, he needs rest. Rest for you will come later, right now you need power."

"Power eh? I like the sound of that man." With that Tony followed in the hollow footsteps of Death into the dark.

Tony's footsteps were the only source of noise in the tunnel. The torches that flickered on either wall produced no crackle and no smoke. His robed guide was as silent as the grave as they trekked forward. Eventually a faint red glow could be gleamed in the distance. The smell of sulfur and brimstone filled the Cubans' nostrils.

The silence was broken by the hiss of steam and a faint bubbling noise. As if passing an invisible barrier, the temperature of the air turned from a lukewarm quality to the levels of a sauna. A sweat broke out against Tony's skin, beads of perspiration slid down the contours of his angular face. Finally the tunnel ended inside a large rocky cavern. The ceiling of this new chamber rose high with a small opening at the top, venting the constant vapors that rose from over the end of the cliff the pair found themselves standing before.

Curious as to the source of the pressure, Tony walked toward the edge and leaned over. What greeted his sight was the volatile and mesmerizing swirl of liquid hot magma, "Wait, we're in a fucking volcano?!"

Despite his signature growl and swagger, the faint tone of surprise was present in his voice. The same motherly whisper filled his ears with a hint of humor, "Well it certainly doesn't look like a hot tub. So maybe don't try going for a swim."

Tony turned to retort only to find in place of the bare cliff face a table strewn with jewelry of various types, and next to the table sat a black cauldron filled with the same lava splashing in the lake of fire below. His companion dangled a necklace between her hands, seemingly enamored with how the diamond at its center caught the light around it. Before he could voice a question The Saint tilted her head toward the remaining gems and gold, "This was the private collection of Joseph Goebbels wife. They would be pretty, if not for the stench of innocent blood."

Seemingly over the captivating sight of the Nazi treasure, she placed the necklace over the cauldron and released it to plop into the scorching ooze. Santa Muerte repeated this action for a few minutes until naught but a gold ring with the infamous Swastika sat alone on the table. Instead of throwing it into the now golden mixture, she waved a hand over it before gesturing to Tony to pick it up. Initially wanting to refuse, Tony looked closer to see the symbol of evil replaced with his own iconic T.M. symbol. The same moniker had marked all of his legitimate enterprises back in Miami.

Tony picked up the gold piece to find it cold to the touch. On instinct he fitted it over his left thumb. The accessory slid smoothly over the digit and then seemingly morphed to fit the appendage. The skeletal woman produced a pitcher from her dark robes and lowered it into the pot, her demeanor not betraying an ounce of discomfort. When she pulled her arm and the container back out Tony half expected the bleach white bones to show some sign of the submerging.

The woman glided over to Tony's side and poured the contents of the cup onto the now empty table. The liquid gold slid into unseen grooves to reveal a crisscrossing of light draining toward nine different sized circular molds. The stream of metal slowed as the pitcher was emptied before it was tossed casually over the cliffside.

"Now then," She smoothed over the velvet cloak, "normally when a cosmic being picks a champion the chosen individual gains an ability that reflects their patrons area of worship. For example, if you had been picked up by the likes of Ares or Odin you would have received a fraction of their strength as comparable to that of a rampaging elephant. Had it been Bast or Inari you would have a few more whiskers along with the added agility."

Tony scowled at that, "No thanks pussycat, I'm enough of a wild animal as is. No need to have a tail while I'm at it."

"Don't worry, the drastic visual alterations were never my proclivity anyway." Her quaking shoulders betrayed the image of Tony as an anthropomorphic Tiger with a bowl of booger sugar saying 'It's GRRRRREAT'.

The saint continued, "Normally you would be given a regenerating attribute that would make you nearly unkillable. But one upon the mortal plane already has that gift by another Death Deity, I can only provide these."

The glowering metal had cooled to a faint glow. With a wave of her hand, the nine circular molds emptied. Within her grasp laid a pile of rings with various sizes, each held a red crystal the size of a small pearl. With a leisurely pace they were set upon the table organized from largest to smallest. "This ain't your everyday average bling is it hermana."

At this the skeletal figure pulled out what could best be described as an Italian stiletto with a gold trim, pearl grips, and delicate engravings along the dagger single edged blade. Again she reached for his hand, and took it into her own. Bracing himself with a better understanding of her intentions, Tony winced as a small cut was made on the pad of his thumb. The blood spilled from the closing wound and trailed down the skin toward the ring. When the crimson touched the reflective yellow surface the precious metal began to glow.

As the light began to fade her scratchy voice filled the air, "Focus your thoughts upon the ring. Direct them as if you could melt it with your mind."

Following her instructions Tony closed his eyes and narrowed his brow in concentration. Suddenly his hand felt as if it had been submerged in cold gelatin, and inside that material was something solid in his grasp. The kingpin tightened his grip on the item until the strange sensation faded. With a peak at the closed fist, he found within the hand the same stiletto. Without a second thought he began to twirl and twist the weapon, getting a feel for the weight and balancing of it.

Santa Muerte stood back watching with amusement as the man's movements with the stiletto became more erratic and vicious. In his overzealousness the blade fell and descended toward the floor, but the sound of collision never reached Tony's ears. The knife was nowhere to be seen, he glanced back toward the ring, this time concentrating without closing his eyes. Before him the blade formed from an oily black substance oozing from the ring. That explained the chilly gelatinous sensation from the first try. The puzzle pieces fell into place as a malicious grin grew on his lips, "You turning me into a walking arsenal Patrona?"

"I thought you would like that." At this she waved toward the other rings, "Each of these holds a different weapon from your world."

Picking up one the size of a pointer finger, she presented it to Tony. He slid it onto the digit and repeated the same steps as the first time. Instead of another knife the familiar weight of a Walther PPK rested in his palm. Pulling back the slide showed a round already in the chamber. Tony looked from the gun to the hollow gaze of his benefactor with a playful glint.

With a snap of her bony fingers a rumbling was heard inside the rocky room and a platform rose from the sweltering depths until it was within the center of the magma. Upon the platform stood an array of straw figurines dressed in various bits of metal armor, separated into three columns with five targets to a row. Once the rumbling ceased, it was replaced with the sharp crack of gunfire. The first row of dummies gradually fell apart under the volley of lead. As the metallic click signified a dry magazine, Tony flicked the clip out and on instinct reached out to pluck another from the air.

Fortunately the action turned out to be the correct one as his fingers curled around the cartridges. Reloading the firearm with familiar efficiency he repeated the action; The plate armor resembled a cheesegrater by now with all the holes punched into the surface. Unknown to Tony, the Saint of Holy Death watched with glee at the display of calculated violence. Once the second mag was dry the kingpin released his grip on the pistol, watching as it blinked from existence midair. Glancing at the ring upon his pointer finger, Tony raised an eyebrow at the red gem fading to white.

Sensing his eagerness to try the other eight to see what each held, The Saint gently grasped his shoulder. This shook Tony from his trance.

"As much fun as I had watching you work, I think it's best now to explain the limitations of this little magic trick." Picking up one of the rings with a still red gem the woman elaborated, "Each of these stones require a certain amount of bloodshed to 'unlock' the weapon inside. The more evil men you slay, the more toys you will have at your disposal."

The prospect of being a walking armory filled the Cuban with a sense of control he hadn't felt since the fallout with Sosa. Already his mind was imagining the possibilities of being able to pull guns from thin air. Tony began to place the remaining rings on each finger until both hands sported the jewelry. The red gems of the locked rings taunted him with the mystery of what each one held. Finally equipped, Tony Montana flexed his hands to get familiar with the added weight the rings added.

"Will they still work if I'm not touching them?"

She shook her head, "They require the contact of your flesh. In any other hands they are just pretty trinkets." Santa Muerte paused before continuing, "The pistol and your blade will always be available, with no limitation on ammunition or sharpness. The other arms each come fully loaded with a reserve of 10 reloads before running dry. These stocks will replenish every time you go to sleep. So try to be conservative with your lluvia de plomo."

The man nodded before arching his back to stretch the aching muscles beneath the suit. The lengthy exposure to the temperature in the chamber had Tony sweat through the rags of his once designer suit. A loud rip stopped his contorting; A faint breeze wafted toward the center of his back. The material had yielded underneath the hail of abuse and given way. Before he could string together a creative and colorful combination of curses a cold caress calmly claimed his clammy skin.

The skinny fingers dug into the tense muscles until a content groan escaped his throat, "It's just clothes mijo. They will be replaced."

The cold appendages disappeared from his shoulders. The rumbling of stones being moved signified they would be walking through another tunnel. Turning away from the table that had forged the rings, Tony settled his eyes upon the Star spangled robes sauntering into the new corridor. Jogging to catch up with his companion, the Cuban voiced his excitement, "I hope you got a good tailor. Cuz whatever I do, I gotta do it in style."

The next area they entered was far too normal in comparison to the study and the forge. At least that was Tony's initial thoughts, surrounded by bundles of fabric, boxes of thread, and staring at the grandfatherly old man standing behind the far counter with a smile. But that sense of normalcy shattered upon closer examination of the tailor, who had no eyes behind the bifocals perched on his crooked sharp beak. Instead Tony stared into two brilliant green emeralds. Rather than explaining the circumstances behind the proprietor's haunting appearance, the skinny lady decided to try the sun hats on display near one of the many full body mirrors.

Tony walked up to the counter and placed one of his hands on the glass top. The action broke the strange man's silence as he cheerfully responded as if seeing them for the first time, "Are my old eyes playing tricks on me? Lati is that you mi amore?"

Twirling around with a feminine jaunt, the Saint responded while draping one of the silk scarves over her shoulders, "It's no trick Guiseppe."

"Oh benedetto e questo giorno per essere tra amici!" Guiseppe cried as he walked from around the corner with arms wide open. Santa Muerte floated into the embrace, the sun hat and scarf still upon her form. After a minute the two broke apart, Guiseppes hands softly gripping her shoulders.

"My god, are you eating well?" The parental tone of worry was thick.

The embodiment of death and violence was apparently embarrassed by the statement. Her hands went to squeeze his, "I am, I am my friend. You need not worry for me."

"I can't help it, piccolo topo. You are so thin I MUST worry." At this the two shared a laugh.

"Hate to break up this little reunion, but I'm starting to chafe from the dried blood." Tony announced, making Guiseppe turn in his direction.

The rosy red cheeks of the man flushed upon seeing the state of Tony's clothes. Quicker than one would expect from a man his age and stature, Guiseppe stood in front of the Saint and pulled a double barrel sawed off shotgun from seemingly nowhere, "Back you hobo! This is a reputable place of business! I will not have street trash in my home!"

Street Trash?

Before Tony could look past the haze of anger that clouded his vision the Walther was already in his hand, "Ay man, don't you fuck with me! I ain't no bum cabrone!"

A pale hand pressed atop the lupara, lowering it toward the ground.

"My apologies Guiseppe, I forgot to introduce my friend here." She looked between the old italian gentleman and Tony.

Despite her lack of facial features the cold that ran through the Cubans veins told him she was not pleased with his behavior. Slowly Tony lowered his gun, feeling it disperse back into the ring. Casting his eyes toward the ground, the kingpin mumbled softly about crazy old men and talking skeletons. Seemingly satisfied with her cuffing, the Saint took the shotgun from the older man and placed it in a mannequin's stiff arms.

"This is Tony Montana, a businessman from Miami." The tailor stepped into Tony's personal space, walking around him in slow circles. The frown of concentration marred his features as he took in the ragged appearance of the Cuban. The glittering gems for eyes betrayed nothing as Tony felt he was less a customer and more a science experiment underneath a microscope.

Without asking permission Guiseppe started to pull at certain parts of the damaged suit. A tape measure appeared within his hand as he started to take measurements while muttering to himself in his native tongue. This continued on for fifteen minutes until the man stepped back seemingly satisfied with his discoveries, "What business did you carry out in Miami Signore Montana?"

"Mostly pharmaceuticals, some charity work on the side, and lot's of international shipping." Tony rattled off the little white lie with practiced ease. It hadn't been the first time his professional history had been under scrutiny. But unlike normal, the answer elicited a hearty laugh from the small elder. Tony raised his eyebrow but decided to hold his tongue until the bellows ceased.

"What's so funny about my business Tata?"

Finally Guiseppe stopped laughing before wiping a stray tear from his eye. Suddenly his expression turned deadly serious as he replied, "You have the hands of a killer."

The statement made Tony clench his hands tightly, "Oh yeah? And I'm guessing you meet a lot of killers in your line of work."

The tailor retreated back to the far wall, scribbling down notes into a small paper pad. Guiseppe then disappeared behind the counter before reappearing with a large photo album. Cracking open the book, the old man flipped through the numerous pages before stopping on the picture he had searched for. Gesturing for Tony to come closer, he turned the album to face the kingpin. The only noise between the two was a disbelieving, "No fucking way…"

"As you can see Signore Montana, I have known killers for a very long time."

The image was in black and white. There were ten individuals, nine men and a little girl. Half the group laid on the ground, lazily lounging on the grass. The other half stood at attention to the back, all the males were sharply dressed in three piece double breasted suits. The man at the center sat down next to the young girl, a friendly smile upon his face. Tony turned over the photograph to see a note in small precise pen strokes.

Thanks for doing a rush order for Easter.

Deidre loved her Dress.

Keep up the good work Malone.

Sincerely,

Snorky'

Turning the picture back over he noticed the faint lines of a scar on the man's face. Tearing his gaze away from the historic memorabilia, Tony found Guiseppe examining him with a shit eating grin.

I gotta admit, this little guy has balls.

Tony returned the smile, "Okay Tata, You clearly know what you're talking about. Fine, I admit I was a soldier once, a long time ago in my home country."

The tailor nodded in acceptance, "You may find yourself a soldier again. Lati has the most awful luck when it comes to getting into trouble."

The Saint gasped in mock indignation, before responding, "Why would you say something so cruel to such a delicate flower such as myself?"

She draped herself dramatically over a couch while raising her hand to the forehead in an exaggerated manner. Guiseppe snorted before barking back, "A delicate flower, yes? Is this the same flower that covered my previous shop in the blood of my tormentors?"

The mischievous giggle said everything in relation to their unspoken history. Once finalized, Guiseppe took the notes he'd collected and disappeared into a back room. Tony watched as the small figure left before looking back at the lounging woman, "Lati?"

Santa Muerte responded in kind, "An alias I used when I first met Guiseppe, Latif Ossa. He said it sounded too serious and claimed a nickname would emphasize my more playful side. He came up with Lati."

"I agree with him, it sounds cuter." Tony contemplated the new information to himself, failing to notice the bashful reaction his words had caused his companion.

"What happened to his eyes though?" It was said more to himself than her, but it didn't lessen the blow to the saint's previously bright mood. Tony turned to see her shrink into the cushions while avoiding his eyes.

"That was…," The skinny lady whispered in sorrow, "my fault."

Curiosity peaked, the kingpin walked over to the leathery couch. The sunflower hat tilted until the hollow black holes of her face stared back at the scarred visage. Silently the Cuban tilted his head to the seat, she nodded before sitting up to make room. He sat down, elbows on knees, with his hands clasped in a tight knot of fingers and rings. The slowly becoming familiar sensation of a head on his shoulders said enough.

After a moment she began, "I was a lot more hands on back then. I would treat my envoys less like soldiers and more like weapons. The man I had chosen at the time was no different, Aldo Trapani they called him. Were my actions Cruel? Yes, but so was he. Aldo's motivations were as pure as they came, revenge."

"He worked for one of the five families in New York City. The best triggerman in the state is what they called him, partially thanks to my influence. The ultimate goal was to get the Don that put his father in the ground. But something got in the way-"

Tony intercepted the story to add his own observation, "It was a girl. Wasn't it?"

The robed figure sighed, the warm air tickling his neck, "Isn't it always Antonio? Yes, Aldo had fallen in love with a woman named Frankie. When his enemies found out, they took her and did the terrible things men do. After that, the road to his goal was stacked with bodies but absent of distractions. Eventually my services were no longer needed so I departed."

Tony took some time to digest the tale before furrowing his brow in confusion, "That's a bleak story Patrona, but what does it have to do with the old man's jewels?"

"I had no idea you had such tastes Tony. Thinking about his jewels are we?" In contrast to the melancholy in her voice, she teased him with a small laugh.

"You know what I mean Lati." The affectionate title brought some small levity to the somber mood.

"Frankie Malone didn't have many friends. But she did have a father that loved her dearly. A father who stood in defiance of the wicked men who came to collect his little girl. They took his eyes for that act of rebellion. All because I had picked the one boy who'd caught his little girl's heart."

"They came later to finish the job; Planned on burning down his store. I had already finished my obligation to Aldo. Was on my way out of the city. I stopped by to say goodbye, offer my condolences, and be on my way to the next bloodbath. Instead I had a gun shoved into my face by some goon as the rest were splashing gasoline on everything. Guiseppe's wounds were still fresh, his face half bandaged."

"He wasn't crying or begging to be spared. Instead he silently prayed to god. The man that had intercepted me at the door dragged me inside by the arm. I cried in surprise," she paused to gather strength before continuing, "When he heard my voice he turned from a docile old man resigned to his fate into a frothing snapping wolf protecting a cub. He struggled against his bindings, spat and cursed, practically tried to glare them to death with no retinas."

"Seeing him react so strongly for a woman he barely knew struck something in my core. I dropped the disguise, showed the hapless fools the face of their doom, and tore through them like a hurricane of razors. By the time I got a hold of myself the entire room was red. Poor Guiseppe was right in the splash zone looking like a ripe tomato. I untied the bindings and led him away from the massacre as the flames started to spill onto the street."

"Deciding he had nowhere to go I offered him the only things I could, his sight, and a job. He's been with me ever since." The conclusion of the tale was marked with the shifting of cushions as the Saint stood, brushing away the tears Tony could not see.

He stood and gripped the still raised hand, giving it a squeeze, "You saved his life."

Looking down at the physical contact then back into the Cubans face Lati lamented, "And took so much more. Thank you for the kind words Antonio, but they are wasted on the past. Guiseppe may have forgiven my role in those events, but I never can."

The moment was broken with the opening of a door. Guiseppe bounded back into the room with a stack of boxes as high as the ceiling teetering back and forth. The old man set the tower on the ground before grabbing a ladder leaning against the wall and scrambling up it to retrieve the top most package. Descending the steps, the tailor presented the wrapped object to Tony with a cool confidence. He accepted the box and walked to place it on the glass counter before unraveling the string and tearing away the packaging.

What greeted Tony Montana was a familiar sight. The blue flowers and yellow reads sparsely covered the red fabric. It was freshly pressed, firm creases along the buttoned center. The tigers roamed the space, at ease in their surroundings. He hadn't worn it since the day he watched Angel get cut in half by those Columbian dogs.

Underneath the shirt lay coarse khaki slacks, delicates, a pair of polished brown boots, and Golden Aviators in a hard case. An adjoining room on the right hand wall opened to reveal a white tiled lavatory with a brass bathtub. Tony took the hint and gathered up the items in the box before entering and closing the doorway behind him. The rags were stripped unceremoniously from his wiry frame. The floral scent from the steamy water faintly reminded him of the garden his grandmother had kept back in Cuba.

After a thorough scrubbing, some oral hygiene provided conveniently near the sink, and a donning of the threads, Tony felt like a new man. Considering the events of the last few hours, maybe that wasn't too far off. He felt more level headed. The Cuban idly wondered if his new boss had a hand in controlling his temper. Tony Montana still had a raging inferno of fury in his heart; But the chaotic fluctuation between calm and carnage had ceased.

When exiting the bathroom Tony found the two old friends flipping through the photo album, commenting on certain individuals preserved in the yellowed pages. His footsteps broke them from their trip down memory lane. Guiseppe clapped for his own gifted work. Lati chose to let out a perfect cat-call whistle to show her approval. The kingpin smiled while adjusting his collar, "I'm not gonna even pretend I understand how you made this old man. Probably some black magic voodoo shit."

"So you've tested the added qualities, Signore Montana?"

"Qualities? What you mean?"

The tailor walked over to the Cuban with a pair of cloth shears and a glass of water. He set the cup down before delicately taking an end of the untucked shirt and giving it a small snip toward the edge. Instead of cursing at the damage done to his new clothes, Tony watched as the old man took a single finger and dipped it into the glass before applying it to the cut. Before his eyes the threads reached toward each other and started to re-knit before the fabric was repaired. Guiseppe then drank the remaining liquid while Tony prodded at the spot where the demonstration took place.

"I figured a man of business such as yourself would be putting his clothes through much wear and tear. So I made your wardrobe out of a special material. Whether shot, stabbed, burnt, or torn, exposing the article to water will undo the damage done. The same applies for stains of various nature."

Guiseppe then gestured to the remaining tower of packages, "The rest are much the same. I took the liberty of replicating the outfits from your memories. If anything doesn't fit right, return with Lati and I will correct it."

The old man then smiled at Tony, who found himself returning the honest sign of happiness. Lati leaned down to the short man and pecked him on the cheek. Before the pair could make their exit the tailor gripped Tony's shoulder and stood on his tippy toes to whisper in the Cuban's ear, "Take good care of her. Or I will find you, capiche?"

The kingpin nodded before following the saint down another tunnel. Walking beside the robed figure Tony mused, "Locked and loaded, all dolled up, and somewhere to go. We gonna grab Angie pussycat?"

"I like the eagerness, Antonio, but no. First we retrieve your men." Tony was about to ask 'what men?' when the saint continued, "Then the transportation will be sorted out. After that, yes we will pick up Angelo."

The final door was larger than normal, made out of sheet metal and more at home among an industrial district. With a wave of her hand the heavy iron slid to the side revealing the interior of a warehouse, moonlight spilled into the skylights bathing everything in a pale glow. First thing that caught his eye had to be the coffins, the shiny black exteriors left no clue to their contents. The back wall sported a line of large objects obscured by tarp, with a smaller one displayed in front. The sky outside the windows showed a starry night.

While Santa Muerte glided toward the closest casket Tony voiced his question, "Anybody you know Patrona?"

Turning to stare back at her champion, the skinny lady spoke in a tender tone, "You should be asking yourself that, Antonio. You did after all hire most of them personally."

The next question was asked not with his voice, but his eyes. She simply nodded in confirmation. The cuban cautiously stepped toward the coffin before cracking the lid. His hands rested on the edge with a tight grip, the rings scraped against the wood. A single word escaped his throat as he stared at the peaceful face, "Paco…"

The boy lay still in his confinement, dressed in the standard Montana uniform of clean chinos, simple dress shoes, and a vibrant Hawaiian shirt. One of the first to be taken on after snuffing the piece of shit Frank Lopez, Paco was shy and polite. Even at Tony's insistence to call him by his first name, Paco always addressed him as Mr. Montana. He'd stationed him at the front gate, figuring his kind nature would help de-escalate any misunderstandings when civilians came to gawk at the property. Instead it probably made him one of the first casualties the night of the siege.

"Do not blame yourself Tony. It was Hector who killed these men." The statement was delivered with softness.

On cue, every lid slid off to the side, creating a thundering boom as they all hit the concrete. Inside each lay the remains of the Montana Cartel, all dressed in fine slacks and varied tropical shirts. The bodies were all intact, if pale in complexion. Lati then cleared her throat before chanting something Tony could not place. Whatever language was spoken was not from his time.

The ancient hymns started a reaction on the cadavers. The kingpin watched as Paco's cold flesh flitted away like dust in the wind leaving behind a clothed skeleton in his place. Tony walked over to an adjourning box to confirm the same had happened for the other occupants. The foreign words increased in volume and speed until the skinny lady's voice reverberated off the metal walls with the pressure of thunder. The bodies began emitting a violet glow as the ground quaked below the Cuban. The man turned to witness his companion secreting the same purple energy that covered his men, her form floated a foot off the ground.

Then it stopped. The noise abruptly died, leaving behind a still room. Before Tony could ask what Lati had done, the bones in each coffin sat up abruptly in synchronization. The kingpin stepped back cautiously, curiously watching as they each exited their respective crypts and reached inside to pull out a firearm each. Lastly, each clicked their heels together and stood at attention, their weapons cradled protectively.

The forty undead sicarios turned their skulls to look toward the Cuban. Tony walked back to the now standing Paco. The man waved a hand in front of the unresponsive wraith. Even a poke to the literal ribs didn't break the facade. Finally Tony spoke with the same authority he'd always addressed his employees, "Hey, you, look at me when I'm speaking to you."

"Yes Mr. Montana?" Paco replied without moving his jaw. His voice sounded the same as when he was alive, but distorted like speaking through water.

"Status report Paco, what happened." The kingpin already knew what had transpired but wanted to see if this was the real Paco or a magic construct merely puppeting his remains.

"We all died fighting Sir. The mansion burned to the ground. The cops arrived in time to mop up the handful of us that survived. They offered us mercy in exchange for information on your whereabouts."

"What did you say back hermano?"

The skeleton cocked the charging handle on his Uzi, "Come Mierda Culeros."

The response elicited a laugh from Tony.

It really is him. Kid always had a dirty mouth when pushed far enough.

Quickly getting over his crew's new appearance, the kingpin walked to stand beside his patron. He stood with his ring covered hands clasped behind his back, more like a general than a gangster. Before him stood men that were loyal, lethal, and lawless while alive. With their newly acquired immunity to death they would be unstoppable. Tony addressed the assembly with the bark of a drill sergeant, "Who are we?"

The crowd roared back, "The Tigers of the jungle!"

"Who's king of this fucking jungle?"

"You are Jefe!"

"What do we do?"

"Whatever the fuck we want!"

"Why?"

"Because we're fucking Tigers."

"Sangre dentro…"

"Sangre fuera!" The men then let out a war cry while waving their weapons.

Tony heard slow clapping and turned to see Lati looking satisfied with his little speech. She then walked to the far end of the warehouse before stopping before the smaller tarped object he'd seen when they first entered. Placing a hand on the corner, she pulled the burlap off in one fluid motion. Under the low lighting the soft yellow paint reflected its surroundings. The interior's white tiger trim was pristine.

The iconic 1965 Cadillac Eldorado looked like it had just rolled off the assembly line. The Saint laid on the hood, posed like an automobile magazine ad, "I'd stop spoiling you, but your reactions are too adorable mijo."

The Cuban stopped staring and walked through the throng of undead soldiers to get a better look at the car. Tony then whistled, causing the wraiths to break rank and scramble into action pulling off the other tarps. Underneath the fabric sat five Soviet BTR-70 armored personnel carriers. He'd had some time behind the wheel of their predecessors, the BTR-60's. If these things were half as reliable, the Montana Cartel would be going to war in style.

With two top mounted heavy caliber machine guns, each with a 360 degree turn radius, supporting fire was childsplay. The bulletproof floodlight would make night combat easier, shining a blinding beam into any dark corner. The vehicles were amphibious as well, eliminating the need for bridges or boats. The armored interior could sit ten normally, but it seems the two rear axle seats had been swapped out for AGS-17 grenade launchers leaving room for eight instead. The V-8 engines along with the Kevlar insulated tires turned rough terrain into a paved suburb.

Tony stopped admiring the military hardware once he heard a loud fizzling, the source of which seemed to be Lati placing her hand on one of the sicarios. The affected goon shimmered briefly before taking on the appearance of what the man had looked like while alive. She repeated the action with the remainder until each looked 'normal' again. The Saint returned to the passenger side of the Cadillac and waited. Tony walked over and opened the side door, allowing the robed woman to sit inside before patting the driver seat.

He followed her instructions and clambered into the first car he'd owned after arriving in the States. Not finding any keys in the ignition, the man pulled down the sun visor, and felt two items fall into his lap. One was the set of keys, the other was an egg white envelope addressed to Tony. Setting the former on the dashboard, Tony summoned his knife and quickly opened the latter. The letter was written in precise small handwriting.

Dear Signore Montana,

I know Lati will think me silly for worrying, but as you probably know by now she is all I have left. Take good care of her, or I will find you.

Sincerely,

Guiseppe Malone

P.S. Check the trunk

The final line stood out against the remainder of the note. Tony folded the paper and tucked it away, then started the ignition. He'd have to take a look later when he had time. Lati turned on the radio and fiddled with the dials until an upbeat latin tune flooded the speakers. Glancing back, the Kingpin grunted in satisfaction at seeing his men starting up the line of armored vehicles.

A metallic squeak was heard off to his right, the large siding of the back wall parted to bathe the group in silver. Slowly, the APC's backed out of the warehouse and pulled off to the side leaving plenty of room for Tony to navigate the car outside underneath the unnaturally starry sky. On either side of the structure a grassy field stretched endlessly into the horizon. A single dirt road stretched into a sheer mountainside, leading to yet another black tunnel. Giving the engine some gas to make it purr, Tony switched gears and shot out onto the gravel path, the convoy followed.

"Why you turn my men into Halloween decorations then make skin suits?" His words broke the comfortable silence that had settled between the Mobster and the Saint as they drove down the road.

Santa Muerte didn't return his attention, continuing to dip her hand into the cold air that zipped by. Instead she asked him a question in return, "Do you still fear thunderstorms Antonio?"

The strange inquiry caused Tony to dial the volume down before returning his hand to the wheel. Silence permeated the atmosphere before he admitted, "Not since I was a kid."

"And when you were a child? How did you feel about them then?"

His tone took a defensive stance, "Hid under the bed. Is that what you want me to say? That I was terrified, shaking and crying, small and helpless. That I was stupid for thinking the yankees were dropping bombs instead raindrops. My father tried to explain to me, he said, 'Tony, it looks bad, but it can't hurt you.' Didn't help the dreams. Didn't help one fucking bit."

Before he could continue his tirade, a skinny hand reached over and patted him, "That is exactly why I placed that illusion on your men Antonio. Because where you are going, the people will act like scared little children. Even when something is illogical, fear bypasses the thought process and pushes mortals to act on instinct. We cannot afford to scare them into making a decision they will regret. You can understand the necessity of appearances, mijo."

The explanation doused the flames of his anger. The drive continued to be uneventful until they reached the mouth of the cave carved out of the mountainside. A figure was spotted in the grass, lying down. Tony slowed to a park and exited the vehicle to get a better look. The sight made the Cuban break out in laughter.

Angelo was apparently having some pleasant dreams with the way he cuddled up to the hollow tree log near him. The mumbling of what Tony assumed to be pillow talk only added to the embarrassing situation. After several sustained minutes of bellyaching Tony gathered a deep breath to replenish his lungs. Deciding Angie had rested enough, Tony gave a sharp kick to the henchman's leg. The action roused him from his slumber with a start before taking in his surroundings.

"Uh, Jefe?" Angelo began sitting up, "What happened? Last thing I remember was walking through that weird tunnel…" His face scrunched in concentration, "Into a library? Then it all gets blurry."

Tony extended his hand, Angelo gladly accepted the offer and was hoisted up back onto his feet. Tony then turned to gesture at the line of vehicles idling on the road, "I got busy while you caught your beauty sleep. Hop in the back cabrone."

Despite wanting to ask more questions, like why were all his dead friends waving at him from military transports, Angelo listened to his boss and got in the back seat of the cadillac. Tony returned to the driver seat and cranked the volume of the music back up. Lati turned to thank him but was cut off by the terrified scream of the younger man. Tony turned around and gave him the signature Montana glare, which forced the henchman to bite his lip hard to cease his cries.

"That was a bit rude, don't you know it's impolite to not introduce yourself when in the presence of a lady?" Despite the annoyance in her words, Lati's tone gave away the humor she found in the reaction.

"Angelo, I'd like you to meet Santa Muerte. She's the one who saved our sorry asses. To show our, "Tony's eyes looked into the rearview mirror to pin Angies in place, "appreciation for all she did, we're gonna go on a little trip for her."

Angie sat up like he wanted to say more but decided against it by swallowing his words and nodding. Seeming satisfied with his underlings behavior, Tony drove into the dark. The rumble of engines echoed into the air before fading into silence as the group disappeared from sight.

This final cavern was thankfully shorter than the others. Tony could see the telltale sign of sunlight. The sound of birds chirping filled the stagnant air. Once close enough to the exit, Tony put on his aviators to protect from the blinding beams. Angelo chose to shield his eyes.

The smooth surface of the tunnel changed to an uneven rough forest floor. The air pressure changed, no longer stagnant, a soft breeze tickled the back of the Cubans neck. Angie blinked away the spots in his vision and whistled at the sight. The thicket of trees gave nothing away from their surroundings. Wherever they were now, it wasn't Miami.

They followed the dirt path until the throng of branches opened up to a grassy field with a small hill at the center of the clearing. Tony turned to ask what their next move was but cut himself off with a yawn. Lati lowered the volume of the radio until it was a soft hum and pointed toward the green mound, "First you will make camp on Alnus Hill. It would do no good to be overtaken by the locals simply because you haven't rested enough. Later we discuss your mission."

Tony wanted to argue that he was ready for whatever whenever but a second yawn killed that notion. The Saint giggled at the display, the Kingpin growled in defeat and made way toward the hill. Tony ordered his men to arrange the APC's on the outer perimeter of the hill forming a horseshoe, before demanding defensive traps be constructed in the field and surrounding forest. The dirt bikes were dismounted from the BTR's and a small scout party of three was sent to sweep the surrounding area for signs of life. Before long, a collection of camo green tents had been staked with a large fire roaring at the center of the camp.

Tony retreated to his own shelter for shuteye. That left Angelo to coordinate the rest of the sicarios. The task would have been stress free had he been shadowed by anyone else, but Lati was determined to see how much she could make the Henchman quiver. He was just giving out orders to start digging punji holes when a robed shadow descended over his frame. Fighting the instinct to curl into a ball, Angelo put on his best smile and turned to find the supernatural woman touching the tip of one of the wooden stakes piled up near the shovels.

"W-what c-can I help you with Mrs. Muerte?" Already Angie kicked himself mentally for stuttering.

"How polite," the Saint mused before turning her attention to the young man, "and quite handsome. I bet all the girls back home wanted to just eat you up."

The casual flirtations would normally make Angelo blush like a tomato; He broke out in a cold sweat as Santa Muerte invaded his personal space. A bony hand rose to grip his clammy cheek and pinch it like an abuelita. Lati leaned in to whisper against the quaking man's ear, "I'm half tempted to take a bite myself."

Angie scrambled back to put as much distance between the mythical figure and himself as possible; The scuttling inadvertently caused the man to fall unceremoniously on his rear. The Henchman clamped his eyes shut tightly, bracing for teeth to find skin. Instead his ears picked up a snort before being drowned out by laughter. Chancing eternal damnation, Angelo forced himself to look. The deity was bent over holding her sides in pain, the humor having subdued the powerful woman.

With trepidation Angelo picked himself up and approached the still shaking Saint. Between gasps of air her words stretched into more giggling, "You should have seen your face!"

Shame and embarrassment now flooded the man's body, "That is not very nice Mrs. Muerte!"

In between the gasps of oxygen and the dwindling chuckles the skinny lady replied, "So is calling someone 'Mrs.' when there's no Mr. Muerte."

"Oh," the revelation caused Angelo's face to heat up, "I apologize Patrona. I'm just not used to…" his words trailed off as he waved vaguely to their surroundings.

"That is understandable Angelo. It isn't everyday you find yourself in a myth."

"Yeah, or get teased by one."

The previous tension between the pair disappeared. The remaining tasks were completed without disruption. By late afternoon the sun bathed the surroundings in fiery orange. The scout team returned, two deer and a plethora of rabbits latched to their bikes. Tony awoke to the smell of cooking and the sound of guitar.

Exiting his tent, the Kingpin walked aimlessly around the encampment taking in the sights. If he hadn't been there for the resurrection Tony wouldn't believe just a few short hours ago the men around him were corpses. Some had set up tables for cards; Others grouped up to disassemble and clean their arms. Ten stood atop the BTR's, their binoculars coordinated with the floodlights to constantly check for intruders. Slowly he made his way toward the bonfire, following the notes of music.

Sitting on freshly cut logs, Angelo hunched over a metal bowl taking bites out of the hot stew prepared using the game the scouts had found. Lati sat closest to the flames, showing no sign of discomfort as she tuned the instrument in her lap. The bony digits flittered over the strings, testing each methodically. Without looking up from her task, the Saint pointed off to the side directing Tony toward the cauldron being attended by two of his boys turned cooks. Deciding between food and information, his stomach chimed in breaking the stalemate.

"Mr. Montana!" the one attending the pot stopped stirring to greet their superior.

"At ease chico," Tony acknowledged the other still butchering meat with a nod, "What smells so good?"

Without further instruction the underling retrieved a bowl and poured some of the hot broth into it before presenting it to the Cuban, "Conejo y venado. Luiz, Raul, and Philippe decided to go hunting while they were out looking around. Should have seen them Boss," The sicario laughed while recounting the sight, "they piled so many rabbits on poor Philippe it looked like a big white furball was chasing the other two when they got back."

The Kingpin nodded, "Okay man, make sure everyone eats. Got no room for leftovers and tomorrow is gonna be a big one, comprende?"

The cook took the order with zeal and turned to yell at his partner to be faster. Satisfied with the interaction, Tony walked back toward the fire while idly blowing on the hot liquid. The sound of his footsteps shook Angelo from his ravenous trance, who tried to speak in acknowledgment before choking on the food still in his mouth. Tony waved it off, "Take your time Angie. I don't feel like asking Lati for another raising of the dead."

Angie swallowed and spoke in surprise, "Shit, so it really is the guys?"

Tony took a bite before growling in approval.

"So are they like narco zombies or something?"

"You see them eating any brains?" Tony's tone dripped with sarcasm.

"Well, no. But when Miguel over there started cutting up the meat, he accidentally lopped off a finger." the Henchman turned from the cooks to stare into the flames, "Didn't cry or yell or even fucking bleed. Just picked it up and stuck it back on his hand like it was a damn Lego."

Angelo shivered at the memory before turning to look at Tony, "What did we get into Boss? Are we even on Earth right now? I asked the Patrona but she just speaks in riddles and laughs."

Tony snorted, "Yeah, Lati likes her answers to give you more questions."

"Lati?"

"I'll tell you later. Right now I'm hungry. So could you please shut up for a second and let me eat?"

The next few minutes passed in relative silence. The fire popped then crackled, Lati seemed to have finally finished tuning and strummed out a melancholic melody. The Kingpin released a sigh, set aside the empty bowl, and stood to approach the source of music. The Saint sat right on the edge of the flames, her form cast a long shadow. Without worry for his clothes, Tony sat next to the woman and stared into glowing embers.

The man spoke first, "Who did you bring me here to kill Lati?"

Surprisingly her next words were not another question or teasing. The ethereal whisper sounded almost…angry as she replied, "Zorzal El Caesar."

As the name was spoken her song changed into a more energetic jaunt. The center of the pyre changed from orange to blue, and an image started to take the shape of a muscle bound man in extravagant plate armor. The face in the fire had a cruel smirk plastered on his narrow face.

"He is the prince of the current governing body in these lands. The continent is a patchwork of smaller kingdoms and countries. But they are all vassals to a nation labeled The Empire. The capital where the current emperor and royal family reside is roughly a hundred miles from here. He is their primary General, a sadist, a coward, and a rapist."

"Sounds like a real piece of shit. So, I just got one question for you. You want me to do it slow or fast?"

Santa Muerte was relieved by the response, "Oh Antonio. You do know how to make a woman swoon."

"I kill a rapist for fun, but for a friend? I'm gonna carve him up real nice." To emphasize the point, Tony summoned his blade and tilted it to glint in the light of the flames.

The frantic notes wafting from the instrument stopped with the conclusion of the song. The blue image of the local tyrant flickered into nothing. The next tune was gentle on the senses. Tony felt his eyelids get heavier, the full belly and warm fire only added to the lethargic feelings. Despite the temptation to rest he still had more questions, "Are we on a different planet?"

"Yes and no." The groan of frustration made Lati chuckle, "This is still technically planet Earth, but we are in a different reality of it. One where there is an abundance of magic, mythical creatures, and even subsets of humanoid species like elves and dwarves. But the technological advancements here stagnated to what you would consider medieval europe."

"Wait you mean-"

"Yes Antonio, like fish in a barrel, no?"

Tony ruminated on the new information before realizing a new issue, "If this a different 'reality' that mean they gonna be speaking something I ain't ever heard of. How do I talk without getting burned in the village square."

Lati finished playing then set the guitar aside before taking a small booklet from her robes. Without a word she handed it to the Cuban. It had a plain red leather cover, no bigger than a pocket bible. Tony cracked open the item and scanned the words. It appeared to be a translation between English and the language of the land. Before he could attempt to recite phrases in the native tongue the book was snatched from his grasp and flung into the campfire.

A bony finger was held to his lips as the other hand gestured toward the now blackened reading material. The smoke emanating from the tarnished object was a sickly lime green. The magical vapor rose into the air before dropping like a fog onto the encampment. Tony sniffed the air and found the smoke to be quite pleasant, if a bit sweet, like ripe fruit in the hot sun. Before he could ask she answered, "You may find that less of a problem now."

He waited for an elaboration but found none as she retrieved her instrument and began strumming again. Feeling that the conversation had come to a close, he got up and went to find Angel. The young man hadn't ventured very far and was idly catching up with some others playing cards at a folding table. Once close enough the group stopped their activities to stand up and bow their heads in respect, "Senior Montana, what brings you here? Want us to pull up a chair?"

Tony shook his head with a smile, "No, don't want you all crying when I clean house. Angel, walk with me vago."

The Henchman stood and followed. The Kingpin made his way over to the wall of armored vehicles and climbed one of the service ladders to stand atop the machine. Angie climbed behind, on the last rung Tony extended his hand and helped the other man on top. A guard made his way over and presented his binoculars to the Cuban. Tony placed them against his face and scanned the field.

A smile graced his face once he spotted the subtle signs. A slightly different covered patch of grass dotted the field in even spacings. His eyes looked from the hidden tiger pits to the treeline, spotting the tripwires liberally placed between each stump. Even if they had superior firepower it wouldn't make a difference if the enemy closed the distance. Luckily, Tony's time in the army was spent picking up quite a few tricks, most taught by North Vietnamese instructors.

Whoever showed up for the welcome party would have a hell of a time getting to their position. Pulling the optics away from his face, Tony said more to himself than his companion, "Good job, yeah, real nice chico."

"Why have we set up so many traps Jefe?"

"Somebody gonna try and fuck us Angie. Gonna give those cockroaches a lesson they won't forget."

"What lesson?"

Before descending the APC Tony glanced behind him toward Angelo, "Tony Montana's the one that does the fucking."

When the reports first came in, Molt Sol Augustus, the divine emperor of the Empire itself scoffed at the notion. A band of strange men had apparently appeared out of thin air somewhere on the edge of the Schwarz Forest. They rode strange horseless carriages, and were garbed in vibrant foreign clothes covered in exotic flowers. A local peasant out hunting had stumbled upon a trio of them. The caramel skinned strangers brandished odd looking objects that "made thunder during a clear day" and apparently secured them an astounding amount of game.

To feed their troops most likely.

While the lack of intelligence regarding this threat was concerning, it comforted the Emperor to know the foreigners were small in numbers. No matter their reasons for trespassing on Empire land it would be repaid with their lives. To this end Molt ordered for the local Knight Captain to gather a strike force of five hundred to swiftly put down this possible rebellion attempt by one of the lesser vassal kingdoms.

Foolish children, thinking mercenaries from another land can stand up to the might of the Empire. Once this is resolved perhaps it is time to 'clean house', and remind them who is really in charge.

With the instructions already sent out by his swiftest messengers, the Emperor made his way to the dining room. Little did he know, this would be the last time he'd hold such an appetite.

Angelo thought it was barbaric, Lita said it was charming, and Tony believed it would send the right message. The abundance of rabbit skulls in their possession had been put to use as makeshift warning signs while doubling as range markers for the BTR armaments. Each head was spiked into the ground on the leftover punji stakes. Foxholes had been dug into the exterior of the once pristine hill, each manned by three men. Fifteen more stayed inside the armored personnel carriers, controlling the heavy weapons.

When Lati had first told him an army was coming to test their forces, Tony had ordered the scouts to go into the forest and focus on hit and run tactics once they'd made contact. The purpose of which was to gauge their strength as well as thin the ranks. In the meantime the Montana Cartel had finalized its defenses. The remaining sicarios not inside the armored vehicles or occupying the foxholes laid flat atop the makeshift barrier of BTR's, each armed with a scoped rifle with instructions to put anyone giving orders into the dirt.

All that was left to do was wait.

"Mi dios I'm bored!" whined the Kingpins number two.

"Stop being such a cono Angie. Back in the army all I ever did was fucking wait around. Wait for orders, wait for equipment, wait for other units, wait, wait, wait. Did I bitch? No, but if you do one more time I'm letting Lati share a tent with you."

"How generous of you Antonio. I do find myself quite lonely in my slumber." the skinny lady chimed in.

The threat was effective, leaving the trio to stand in silence behind the line of snipers, each holding a pair of binoculars. When the sun drifted to its highest point in the sky, the telltale sharp pops of gunfire echoed from the north end of the forest. The noise rose and fell in short intervals over the next few minutes before Angie spotted movement in the treeline, "I think I see our boys!"

Right on que the three rode into the field, gracefully avoiding the still hidden traps. Once making it to the defensive line, each dismounted and entered a foxhole. One had an arrow sticking out of his rear shoulder blade, seemingly failing to notice it until another man yanked it out while teasing the former. Several more minutes passed before the first set of tripwires went off. The bombs left clouds of black smoke to waft above the treeline.

By the time visual contact was established, the formation of knights looked haggard and weary. Some sported scorched apparel while others bore small wounds, most likely stray shrapnel. A white horse rode into the clearing, carrying an older man with ornate armor. After dismounting the steed he walked up to one of the grizzly totems, after a brief examination he kicked the pole over before yelling across the field with a smug arrogance, "Your cheap magic tricks may have startled my troops but your cowardly tactics will only make your punishment more severe."

The Knight drew his sword and turned to his men, "Will you have these outsiders make a mockery of the empire's strength?"

The battle cry was loud enough to make Angelo flinch. Tony put away his binoculars and presented an open hand to his left, a megaphone manifested from violet robes and found his grasp. After switching on the instrument the Kingpin barked into the device, "Listen up puto's! Cuz I only gonna say this once. You step on this field, you die. Plain and simple. You fuck with Tony Montana, you fucking with the best!"

Tony's speech elicited a fierce response from his men, who whooped and hollered in agreement. The Knight Captain ignored the generous warning before remounting the horse. His next words would be the undoing of his military career, "CHAAAAAAAAAARGE!"

The first wave valiantly ran over the open plane, before falling into the farthest batch of tiger pits. The shrill screams of those not initially killed by the simple traps was gratefully overshadowed by the din of gunfire. The foxholes twinkled with muzzle flashes. The smug expression melted to shock upon the Knight Captain's face. The same expression was etched into Tony's memory before it was splattered into a red paste by one of the snipers.

Over the course of two hours, the army of five hundred strong had been whittled down to just under eighty able bodied fighters. All the officers had been systematically cut down during the battle, if you could call it that. A slaughter was a more appropriate description of what was taking place. They'd failed to even make it halfway across the crimson coated sea of grass. Finally conceding the hopelessness of taking the hill with their current strength, the remaining soldiers marched away in defeat to inform their superiors of the men covered in flowers.

By the time the last glimmer of metal faded into the leaves Tony ordered his men to clear the field of bodies, strip off anything of value, and dispose of them in a large fire. The putrid smell of burning flesh covered the area in its stench; Luckily their camp was upwind from the source. The ornate armor of the deceased captain was fastened into a crude scarecrow and placed alongside the rabbit poles. Dinner was a collection of scavenged vegetables and venison from the previous day. After the meal Tony went over the pile of captured valuables with Angelo. Amid the numerous pouches of gold coins lay the sword of the slain captain, The double edged blade bore gems inside the hilt in the shape of a red dragon with a gold cross combined with bat wings overlapping the beast.

Tony stared at the emblem for a moment before handing the sword over to Angelo who squeaked in surprise, "Tony, don't you want this? The ice inside this thing is probably worth more than the mansion."

"I need funds hermano, but I also need mi numero dos to be ready if we ever find ourselves in a punchup." The Kingpin explained with a cool head.

"B-but I don't even know how to use a sword?!"

At this their feminine counterpart entered the discussion with a sarcastic remark, "I think the pointy end goes into the other guy."

"You know that's not what I mean Patrona! I mean shit, I haven't swung a stick since I was a kid."

"Best get swinging then chico. Cuz I'm not always gonna be there to pull your culo outta the fire."

Begrudgingly Angelo accepted the answer and went off to start practicing with the archaic weapon.

Once out of hearing range, Santa Muerte commented on the receding figure, "He is uncertain of his role. Afraid to disappoint you. Scared to be left behind."

"That's something he'll have to deal with. We all got our own shit."

"That we certainly do."

The Kingpin walked to his tent and stripped out of the worn clothes before laying on the sparse cot. His forearm shielded his eyes from the firelight that spilled in from the entrance. While the first defense of Alnus hill had been a crushing victory, Tony could not help but brood at the loss of life. It was true the soldiers had come to put them to the sword, but they had simply been following orders. But sadly, peace was never an option.

He'd been brought here to be a scalpel, so Lati could meticulously cut the heart out of this tyrannical regime. Despite the sympathy for those who would be caught in the crossfires Tony knew it would only get better once the prince was dead. The nostalgic strum of a guitar pulled the Cuban from his darker thoughts and helped ease him into a deep slumber. Outside the tent sat the skinny lady, who played into the starry night.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU COULDN'T GET CLOSE?!" The voice of the Emperor was often calm and collected when in the presence of subjects.

This was clearly not one of those times as the messenger garbed in soot and blood flinched under the booming tone. The man silently cursed his colleagues for giving him the 'honor' of informing their liege of the strike forces failure. Already rumors had begun dispersing amongst the populace on the arrival of the mysterious men in flowers. At this rate the vassal states would see it as an opportunity to regain independence while the Imperial Army had been effectively cut in half.

Perhaps I can use these strangers to my advantage.

The Emperor exhaled a hot breath and closed his eyes to recollect himself before issuing his next orders, "Gather the fastest riders in our stables. Have the head scribe draw up requests for our allies. It's time they repaid the kindness of my protection in return. Together we march to war."

While the soldier scrambled to exit the council chambers, one of the more bold senators voiced his opinion on the recent revelations, "Fantastic, begging for troops from the lesser kingdoms will only make us appear weaker. Your Holiness, is it wise to involve them?"

If only I had sent you traitorous lot.

Instead of showing anger at his authority being questioned, the Emperor calmly responded with a cold certainty, "If these strangers are as dangerous as the reports say they are, we have little concern over the threat the vassals pose. Either they too will be cut down, or our uninvited guests will be taken care of. More importantly, word must be sent to my son to finish his campaign in the warrior bunny territory. It's unfortunate he took all our most seasoned fighters but that may prove useful in subjugating the others once we've dealt with the invaders."

The senators grumbled in agreement at the shrewd cunning of their Emperor. With his attack dog of a son, surely they'd remain in power as the corrupt officials had done over the past century. Outside the chambers a young woman with maroon hair in a braid dressed in armor pressed against the wall to stay hidden. Her thoughts were a storm of confusion over what she'd heard.

Five hundred reduced to seventy eight in one day? Father, what calamity have you brought to our people?

Before she could be discovered, the woman walked off into the torchlit halls to her personal chambers. Despite the softness of her bed, she knew tonight wouldn't provide such leisurely dreams. They instead would be occupied by strange men clothed in flowers and surrounded by blood.

King Duran of Elbe was a seasoned warrior, a fair ruler, and above all a man of his word. So when he'd received word from the Imperial Capital asking for aid against a small but dangerous band of mercenaries the ruler didn't hesitate to rally his men to the call. Once they'd arrived on the edge of Schwarz Forest the first signs of battle had been spotted. Scorched craters marked the forest floor surrounded by saw dust and charred branches. Body parts and fragments of armor were also discovered around the area, the markings indicated they were imperial troops.

The mages in his employ came to investigate the sight of carnage. Duran trotted over on his stead, eyes still scanning the forest as he asked, "What sort of fire magic did the enemy use?"

The sweat that beaded on the man's forehead indicated that was the one question he was hoping to avoid, "From what I can confirm, there was no magic used here your highness."

The response disturbed the King, a bad feeling settling into his stomach. The mage continued on, "While the markings indicate an intense amount of heat and pressure, there is simply no trace of mana anywhere near the sight."

"Hey, found something!" One of the pikemen cried out near a bush.

The man reached into the shrub and pulled out a broken piece of metal, vaguely in the shape of a crab apple. The soldier proceeded to hand it over to the mage who took it with great interest. After a moment of examining the item, the mage finally made himself heard with a sense of awe tingeing his voice, "Incredible, this metal has been forged in a way I've never seen before. It also carries traces of a black powder I'm not familiar with."

Tired of hearing the magician ooh and aah at the discovery, Duran cut off the man's musing, "You better damn well tell me something useful. Otherwise you may find yourself an apothecary in one of the lesser villages when we return."

The thinly veiled warning snapped the scholar out of his reverence of the peculiar object, "I can tell you whoever the Empire has picked a fight with is not from this continent."

The King of Elbe scrutinized the shivering pile of robes with his infamous one eyed glare before trotting ahead to the front of his marching army. As they passed through the woods, they followed a trail of blood and armor before stumbling upon knights from the League Principality. Their armor bore many similarities, both being modeled off the Imperial Army's current designs. The primary difference was Elbe's army was covered in dark red while the League sported green with yellow trim.

The League is here? Just how many were called to arms?

The answer to the crimson king's question lay in the massive command tent placed one hundred meters from the field of Alnus hill. Surrounded by a kaleidoscope of colorful armor, the twenty one assembled kings and dukes stood around a large round table with a sprawling map of the continent. The atmosphere felt closer to a banquet dinner than a military excursion with jovial teasing and conversation between the assembled rulers. This only made Duran more tense as he realized there was no sign of the Imperial Knight Captain, or even imperial troops for that matter.

Why would the capital assemble us all and not lead themselves? Surely that smug bastard Agustus would like to flex his military might in our fac-

"Duran?! Is that you, you old crocodile?" The voice was familiar and friendly.

Duran looked up to see Duke Ligu of the League smiling like they weren't about to charge into the unknown. Despite the whispers of concern in his head the King returned the gesture with a toothy grin, "Real rich coming from you my friend. I'm surprised you don't have a servant polishing your metal as you stand."

The Duke elicited a hearty laugh at the jab, "When one is ordained to look this good. Such matters of cleanliness are a higher concern."

"Is that so? Then I take it you will be refraining from the evening's activities? War is after all some of the dirtiest business out there."

"Try as you might, the kingdom of Elbe will not take all the glory today. My men will see to it."

The two beamed at each other before clasping hands in a firm shake. The remaining royalty had settled on a two wave attack. The first attackers would use the siege towers to cross the booby trapped field. The second would use the towers to breach their makeshift barricade. Duran still felt the lingering worries flitter in his stomach.

While Ligu was doing the final checks on his saddle, his men prepared to march, Duran approached the Duke, "Duran? Come to ask me to leave some of the bandits for you?"

Despite the smile the King projected, his eyes spilled with concern, "No, nothing of the sort. I just came to wish you luck my friend." While his hand lay on his companion's shoulder, the one eyed man leaned closer with a conspiratorial whisper, "Be careful. I have a bad feeling about these mysterious invaders."

The Duke's brow quirked, "Why do you think that?"

The King answered with another question, "Where is the Knight Captain? Where are the Imperial troops? Don't you find it strange all the vassals were called to deal with a small band of vagabonds?"

Ligu shrugged off the hand while waving off the other man's concerns, "From what I hear, Zorzal is still subjugating the warrior bunny's. Perhaps he requested the reserve forces."

The ruler of the League Principality climbed upon his horse before snapping the reins to attention, "And as for the other thing, maybe old Molt just wanted to remind us all who pulls the strings."

With that final statement the Duke rode off to convene with his captains for the first wave which they would lead. Despite the reassurances the cold pit in the Elbe rulers' insides only grew in size and weight.

I hope you are right my friend.

The assembled force of ten thousand included mages, knights, pikemen, domesticated trolls, and even a handful of dragon riders. Seven siege towers had been constructed and spread over a hundred and eighty degree arch effectively covering half the radius of the field. The large pile of ash and bone worried some of the less experienced among them. The crude scarecrow of imperial armor surrounded by rabbit skulls only increased the tense atmosphere. Some of the spiked holes buzzed with flies, the bodies inside already starting to decompose.

"How barbaric…"

"Must be a savage tribe from the south…"

"Where are their horses?"

"How did they get all those skulls?"

"I heard the invaders don't wear armor."

"What?"

"Yeah, instead they have these strange clothes, covered in flowers."

The idle chatter between the foot soldiers only added to the air of uncertainty. Finally a war horn was blown signaling the start of the attack. With a fervent cry, the massive wave of bodies rushed toward the hill. The front most groups fell victim to more of the insidious pits, but their losses were quickly glossed over as the mob surged forward. The towers rolled and trundled across the terrain with progress being made incrementally.

Across the expanse of grass, standing upon one of the odd looking carriages, a man in all white with a red shirt stared through a compact telescope with his right hand raised in a fist. Once the towers got halfway across the sea of grass, the hand came down in a swift motion. The thundering footsteps were drowned in high pitched whistling. Then everything turned to chaos. The belfry broke apart in bright flashes of red, the broken pieces showering the surrounding troops. The hill resembled a cooling ember, the green mound was alight with flashes of orange and yellow.

The warriors could only despair as those around them fell to the ground, puncture wounds oozing crimson. By the time the whistling stopped the attackers had been reduced to roughly a thousand, with all the towers lying in flames. The war camp was a mess of wounded, shellshocked, and dead. The mood inside the command tent was less jovial this time.

"Just who the hell are these savages?!" Yelled a duke with a sling wrapped around one of his arms.

"My men are all dead!" Cried another.

"We didn't even get close!"

"What do we do now?!"

A sharp pound rang against the table silencing the petty squabbles. The armored fist of Duran clenched in anger, "We are going to avenge Ligu and all the others. They will not tarnish our home!"

The King of Mudwan stood at this declaration, "What you're suggesting is madness! The Imperial Capital must be informed! They will send reinforcements to help us dislodge these parasites!"

Instead of arguing, the King of Elbe started a cruel hollow laugh, "What reinforcements? That ash pile we found was full of bones and imperial armor. No, the Emperor already knows how dangerous these men are."

The revelation made the air grow still inside the tent. Duran continued in the silence, "If we retreat now, our homes will be put in danger. If not by the foreigners then certainly by the Imperials for insubordination. Might has failed us, perhaps speed will secure us victory."

"What are you suggesting?"

"A night raid cavalry charge. With the aid of the dark and a focus on maneuverability their paltry defenses will fall."

"And who would be mad enough to lead such a suicidal charge?"

At this the crimson king locked eyes with each remaining noble before growling with conviction, "I will."

Lati idled around the empty camp, picking up stray magazines and articles of clothing with the same urgency a mother picks up her childrens toys after a long day of play. The boys were still manning their defensive positions, the need for sleep and rest alluding them. Tony and Angelo walked back and forth over the APC's to scan the trees for any signs of another assault. The sun had dipped behind the horizon twenty minutes before; The sky was a gradient between dusk purple and night time black. The fire at the center of their encampment was the only source of illumination.

Clouds had so far obscured the moon, turning their surroundings into a dark void from which no light emanated. Idle chatter was kept absent, each sicario waiting with baited breath for the battle to continue. The rustle of the wind through the grass betrayed nothing. Angelo made another meticulous sweep with his binoculars, looking for any sign of the tin men. A glimmer caught his eye in the bundle of shadows. Quickly he ran over to Tony's side and leaned into his ear, "You were right boss, trying to move in the dark."

"Thought those culos would try something fresh." Finally lowering his binocs, Tony gave a nod to Angelo who in turn sharply whistled.

The floodlights on each BTR sprang to life. The high powered beams cut through the inky darkness and bathed the sneaking army in blinding whiteness. The heavy machine guns swiveled in place and unleashed a wall of lead. The grenade launchers thumped steadily as the field became pockmarked in explosions. Somewhere in the maelstrom of fire and lead stood Duran who could only stare in awe. The muzzle flashes around Tony made him appear to the king like a specter of death, his harsh brown eyes reflecting the carnage occurring with a cold indifference.

The last thoughts that ran through the King of Elbe's mind did not concern the intimidating figure though but the robed woman behind him. She stood in a starry shawl, full red lips pursed in a cheshire grin. Her skin was the color of bronze, dark brown hair cascading down either side of her face. In his reverence he failed to realize those black pupils were staring right back at him.

So beautiful…

The enchantress whispered something into the white clothed man's ear. He nodded and brought his left hand forward cradling an odd small object. Before Duran could make out more details the man pointed it at him with practiced ease. The bullet tore through the shell-shocked King's good eye socket. Tony put away the pistol and continued to watch the remainder of the fighting in silence.

Crows circled overhead as the camp was broken down. The men worked in relative silence as the tents were packed up and the fires doused. In the enemy's haste to retreat after the failed nightraid, they'd left maps and other documents in the abandoned command post. Such cartography was now spread over the hood of the Eldorado as Tony planned the travel route. The bodies had been left relatively where they'd died; The absence of swords and valuables was attributed to the thoroughness of Tony's men.

The tiger pits had been refilled with dirt, tripwires disarmed and retrieved. The Cuban's sandy toned button up sat well against his light brown khakis, the black leather belt was the same shade as his polished boots. The short sleeves allowed the breeze to cool his tanned skin as his fingers traced a line between the Imperial Capital and their current whereabouts.

Shit seems simple enough, looks like a village is to the east of here and it has a road leading to one of their bigger cities. El barrio has a road that can get us through the 'Dumas Mountain Range'. Then we just follow the trail to the capital. Now if only these idiota's had ever heard of a map key, I can't tell if these are hundreds or thousands of miles.

While Tony Montana bore his eyes into the yellowed parchment, Angelo supervised the packing up of the APC's. Other than a few scratches from the stray arrows that broke through their wall of lead the Soviet warmachines were no worse for wear. Despite the piles of spent brass around the massive tires, a check of the ammunition found the convoy resupplied to full capacity. Lati spent this time of all things, painting. With an easel and canvas conjured from seemingly nowhere she stood in one of the vacant fighting holes applying tempered brushstrokes to the mural.

The landscape was separated into two halves. The upper portion danced in soft greens and vibrant blues, depicting the surrounding nature in a beautiful light. This made the lower section stand out more in its grizzly detailing of the slain. The brown, red, and gray turned the ground into a swamp of mortality. As she applied the finishing touches to the wailing faces of the dead, footsteps could be heard coming behind her with a confident stride.

"Hate to cut arts and crafts time but we're ready to get this party on the road."

The Saint stood aside to reveal the morbid portrait, "What do you think Antonio?"

The Kingpin examined the tormented expressions in the sea of bodies. As he stared, distant cries aired in the space at the back of his mind. They rose in volume, graduating from a soft din to a howling screech. With great difficulty Tony broke his stare away from the haunting artwork and the noise stopped like a needle pulled off a record. He found his clothes drenched in cold sweat and a soothing pressure kneading the knot of muscles between his shoulder blades.

Lati removed her hand from the comforting ministrations, "I will admit my style can be 'overwhelming' for those less accustomed to it."

Tony took a step back from the canvas before shuddering, "That's a fucking understatement hermana."

She laughed at his crude response before continuing, "But even the untrained eye can see the positives such expressionism can 'unlock'."

The emphasis on the last word quirked Tony's eyebrow before he widened his eyes in realization. Bringing his fists into focus, the Cuban noticed the remaining four red gems on his left hand had bled into pearlescent opaqueness. The firearm that formed from the middle ring required both hands to properly hold. The stock was already folded into the slugger's more compact 'close quarters' form. This left the SPAS-12 in its iconic silhouette as one of the worlds finest semi auto with pump action capability combat shotguns.

Tony raised the muzzle at hips length with his elbow cocked at the pistol grip and fired one shell of buckshot. The pellets scattered over the empty battlefield while Tony racked a new round into the chamber. He lifted the gun to rest it upon his shoulder with a satisfied smile before walking back up the grassy incline to the car. The others were already either inside their respective transports or riding atop the roof of said transports. When Angelo asked one of the men why the response was both absurd and obvious, no air conditioning.

Sitting in the passenger seat, Angie looked like a lost tourist with the large map strewn across his lap. The squeak and click of car doors along with the shifting of suspension informed him they would be going now, but his nose stayed buried in the parchment. The base immediately surrounding the hill proved bumpy, the tires crunching the bones and armor under the weight of the car. Before long the sight of conflict disappeared into a sea of trees in the rearview mirror. Tony tapped his fingers against the wheel in tempo with the radio's music.

"Hey," the shuffling and folding of paper overlapped the tunes, "I think we should be getting close to that village you talked about Jefe."

More crinkling occurred, followed by cursing, "Have these guys ever heard of travel size?! I feel like I'm handling a tablecloth!"

Tony snorted in amusement, Lati lounged in the backseat staring up at the clouds. At the first sign of the settlement Tony honked twice. The lazy demeanor around the sicarios melted into a cold professionalism. As they drove down the main road surrounded on either side with identical looking cottages, peering eyes stole glances at the exotic arrivals from the safety of their home windows. Finally the slow moving caravan came to a stop, the Cuban and Henchman stepped out of the Cadillac while their female companion sat up from her skywatching.

Initially, only the hum of the engines rose from the blanket of quiet surrounding the town. But eventually curiosity won out against caution as the cabin occupants slowly exited their homes to get a closer look at the men in flowers. While the encounter between the two groups was tense, it came down to the naivete of a child to cut through the pressure. A small girl in a dress reminiscent of a german dirndl meekly approached Luis who stood near the hatch of the first BTR with her hands behind her back. The mother of the little one wanted to go and snatch up her daughter but stayed back holding the small arm of her sibling.

Revealing the object in her hand, a plucked wild flower, the girl extended her open palm with the blossom lying in it. Time stood still, the anxiety of the villagers mixed with the protective hesitance of the sicarios to create a soup that could spill over into bloodshed. Luis bent down on one knee, lowering himself to see eye to eye with the little one. His stoic face broke into a warm smile as he gingerly picked the plant from her grasp.

"Is this for me?" he gently asked.

Her nod made the smile bigger, which in turn made her beam as well. Gingerly, the cartel member took the flower and tucked it behind one of his ears. The man then reached into his slacks pocket and pulled out a handful of coins they'd scavenged from the battle. With incremental clinks, a stack of gold coins weighed down the small girl who looked at the gold then back at Luis with confusion. Her eyes flitted back to her mother, whose tears were close to spilling over in worry, then back to the sicario who nodded with the same warm smile.

The child ran back into the sobbing arms of her mother babbling excitedly, "Mommy! Mommy! Look what the flower man gave me! The meanie soldiers were wrong! See? Mommy, why are you crying?"

The entire exchange made both parties exhale in relief. One of the other henchmen came by and said something to Luis in Spanish, whose smile turned into a scowl as he punched the aforementioned individual's arm hard enough to elicit a yelp while their brothers laughed at the amusing banter. The clinking of a wood staff against the dirt pulled Tony's attention from the 'cultural exchange' who turned to see a short old man using a walking stick to approach them.

So this is the big cheese?

The two leaders both silently examined the other for signs of aggression and weakness. Eventually satisfied with his assessment, the Elders' words came in a heavy smokers croak, "What brings you to Coda village my strangely dressed friend?"

While spoken in English, the natives words carried a slight accent to each syllable. The lilt was similar to Tony's experience with the sushi chef's Elvira would insist on belittling with instructions on how she wanted her food prepared. Deciding this old man and his entourage were no threat, the Cuban responded in a casual tone, "Just passing through Tata. Don't want no trouble from you or your people."

The small shoulders of the Elder drooped in relief. When the coalition forces of the vassals marched through in the early hours of the morning, a higher ranked officer had stopped by the man's house to warn him of the foreign band of mercs. The destruction described by the soldier had chilled his blood in fear for what would come to his little community. With the deaths of the local garrison and their landlord, the province was left helpless to put up any resistance once the invaders moved on. He'd pleaded for just a handful of soldiers to stay and help protect the village; the officer said he'd rather 'live a deserter than die for peasants'.

So it was very fortunate to find that his 'conquerors' had no desire for pillaging their humble town. The Elder was so blindsided in this euphoria he failed to notice the arrival of a third individual, only announced by the shadow that covered his small stature. The man lifted his head to greet the person, and found his words caught in his throat like a snare.

Lati giggled at the wide eyed appreciation the man showered her form with. While seeing mortals shiver in terror at her presence always made the Saint feel powerful, the worship of her 'feminine assets' also made her feel powerful, if in a whole different way. Deciding to throw the floundering man a life preserve, Santa Muerte asked with a laugh, "Is there something in my teeth?"

The question pulled him from his idle fantasizing with embarrassment. With the reddening of cheeks, the man responded with a hint of nervousness, "No! No young lady. Forgive my wandering eyes, we've just never encountered a people such as you. Pray tell, what land do you hail from?"

The man with the scar said with a masculine swagger, "Miami man. Primo party capital of America."

"MY-AAM-EEE," The old man tried the name of the stranger's homeland in his mouth, "I have never heard of such a place. It must be quite far from here."

The beige man chuckled, "Trust me mano, you got no idea."

One of the numerous men in those vibrant colors broke away from the slowly forming crowd around the military vehicles and approached the trio. His demeanor was decidedly less 'collected' than the others, "Tony, the locals are trying to give us food. What do I tell the guys?"

Tony looked over the weary and tired people, their desperately hopeful expressions reminding him of the farmers back home. The mother had slowed in her crying and was now rocking back and forth with the girl in her arms. The display tugged at something inside his chest, "Tell them to trade some of the loot for whatever they give."

The casual way the man in charge spoke of giving away such treasures shocked the village Elder. While his demeanor implied a higher class or nobility, he carried himself with the confidence of a barbarian chieftain. Whatever power he'd acquired, was clearly obtained by his own strength of will and two hands. While the old man was reeling from the generosity displayed there was a loud boom from the far end of the settlement. Like a candle being blown out, the sicarios stopped their idle socializing and snapped to attention, "JEFE?"

Tony had already summoned the shotgun and kept it low-ready while barking back, "Stay here, set up a perimeter! Keep the farmers safe!"

The Cuban then pointed at two other henchmen, "Paco, Miguel, you rolling with Angie and Me."

He then turned to address the robed woman, "If you hear any gunfire get the people inside the trucks."

She reached up to smooth his collar, "Don't get into too much trouble Antonio."

"Can't get into what you already are chica."

With a shake of her head, the Saint removed herself to go soothe the panicky populace. The four men sprinted down the dirt road, weapons at the ready. A large black plume of smoke rose from the location of the explosion. Running through the throng of trees, the group came to a skidding halt. Before their eyes stood a massive red dragon standing over the fiery ruins of one of the cottages.

The massive beast paid them no mind; It's attention was drawn to an unconscious young woman with short blue hair cradled by a stout man with a pointy hat and large beard. The man held up a staff with an amber gem attached at the end and whispered something that failed to reach Tony's ears. Before his eyes the pair was encased in a blue shimmering bubble as the reptile belched flames onto their position. The marble of energy disappeared in the raging inferno for but a moment. When the torrent of fire ceased, the Kingpin was surprised to see the two civilians still alive with the older man sporting a more haggard expression than before.

Was that fucking magic?

Despite his curiosity, Tony knew now was not the time for questions but action. He sharply whistled, gaining the attention of the hulking monster, "Hey! You gotta be the ugliest damn iguana I ever seen man! You take after your mama?!"

While its yellow eyes were focused on him the other three raised their guns and mag dumped into the scaly mug. A majority of the bullets bounced harmlessly off the tough hide, only irritating the dragon. In response it opened up its gaping maw with rows of needle-like teeth and roared loudly. This was exactly as Tony wanted, who raised the SPAS and flicked it to semi auto before putting up a wall of buckshot. While the pellets would do even less damage to the outside of the beast as the bullets, he wasn't aiming for its face, but its tongue.

The resulting calculation proved correct as the small lead balls peppered the exposed muscle with extreme prejudice. Deep gashes appeared in the creature's mouth, the blood spilling out the sides. The beast thrashed violently from side to side, seemingly unable to produce more fire while the crimson flowed. The head lowered and dove to snatch the Cuban in powerful jaws. The man jumped to the side at the last second, reminiscent of a bullfighter expertly sidestepping a charging bull.

The shotgun had morphed into something else at Tony's subconscious request. Without time to uncover the identity of the new weapon, Tony raised it with a single hand and pointed toward the yellow orb glaring hatefully at him. The automatic action rang out with fury, turning the lemon iris into a pockmarked heap of sludge and muscle. The pain this caused proved too great for the overgrown lizard who swung its head to either side in agony, unknowingly knocking Tony off his feet. The Cuban landed with a grunt on his back before a large gust of wind whipped out in every direction.

The retreating figure of the monster rose into the sky before flying off into the distance, eventually leaving the Kingpin's sight. Tony laid there for a moment before standing up to brush himself off. After a quick count of fingers, toes, arms, and legs he jogged over to check on his men's status. The thrashing had apparently thrown Miguel into a bush, Angelo sported a small cut on his cheek, Paco was no worse for wear. Before they could voice their opinions on the encounter, a shrill scream drew the attention of the four men. Surrounded by already smoldering ruins, the blue haired girl now cradled the smaller old man. The approaching footsteps were ignored as the personal tragedy played out.

"Teacher! Teacher, wake up!" The girl's high voice cracked under stress.

"The flame dragon is gone! We're okay! We're okay, so whY WON'T YOU WAKE UP?!"

The peaceful smile on the man's face didn't so much as twitch in response. The girls shaking became more forceful and erratic, "I'm sorry I thought I knew more than you! I shouldn't have tried the spell! So yell at me, please get mad, ANYTHING! P-please," The tears spilled from her blue eyes, "don't leave me… alone…"

A ringed hand clasped Lelei's shoulder, "Lo siento Senora."

She turned from her mentor and father figure to see a man with foreign clothes and a pronounced scar crossing his left eye. Despite the serious expression his eyes bore a well of sympathy. In that stare, the truth of the situation descended upon the young mage who buried her face in the broad chest of the stranger before collapsing in howling cries. With only a fraction of hesitation the former Druglord lowered his hands onto her quivering back. The small form shook in Tony's arms while the embers around them faded to ash.

(Several Hours Earlier)

Lelei walked around the cozy cottage, grabbing candles, chalk, and other miscellaneous items to help with the summoning spell. She was excited to see the results, even if her stoic face spoke the opposite. Clearing space in the center of the sparsely furnished room, the bluenette went to meticulously draw a large pentagon, then a smaller pentagram inside it, before adding an even smaller swirling circle in the center of the previous shape. Inside each corner of the summoning 'circle' a white candle was placed and lit. The arcane book said the incantation would summon a reptile; Despite her teacher's concern at the sparse description of the animal summoned, Lelei wanted to attempt the ritual nonetheless.

The young Mage had an unending thirst for knowledge combined with an almost prodigy level of talent. This combination often made her appear the more experienced of the two magic users in the cabin.

Speaking of Teacher, I wonder where he is?

The idle thought was immediately answered by a door being kicked open by a comically short robed man holding a pile of books, scrolls, and beakers in his straining arms. A string of complaints and words that made the young girl's cheeks heat up fell from the man's mouth as he struggled underneath the weight of the load. Before the fowl language could grow in volume, a blue energy enveloped the heavy load and floated it over to rest on the kitchen table.

"Thank you Lelei, another second or two and my back would have snapped." The elder magician laughed at the morbid thought.

"I don't see why you attempted to carry it all yourself Teacher. The action was needless." The bluenette's deadpan reply was curt.

Cato El Altestan replied with a sagely voice, "In life it is often tempting to take the easy path. But it's never about the destination, but the journey. Remember that Lelei."

"You hit on the delivery girl again didn't you."

The statement made the elder mage faceplant into the hardwood floor. Getting up, the mage mumbled to himself in embarrassment and frustration about 'prude villagers' and 'disrespectful students' before joining Lelei at the outskirts of her current project. While she finished placing a small pile of lizard bones in the center of the diagram of lines Cato looked at the page his student was using as reference. His brow furrowed as he reread the vague steps needed to conjure a 'reptile'. While the instructions were not particularly uncommon compared to other summoning spells, the sparse description of the creature the spell was centered around concerned the experienced magic user.

Before Lelei could do the final action to complete the ritual, Cato voiced his concerns, "I understand you're eager to prove your skill and finish this apprenticeship, Lelei. But something doesn't feel right about this spell. I just don't like it."

The young woman couldn't help but roll her eyes at her mentor's hesitation. Despite often being the one to get the pair into trouble, he was now doing a one eighty and attempting to be the voice of reason. Cato continued unaware of Lelei's growing annoyance, "Promise me you won't attempt the spell until we understand more about its origins."

"Yes, teacher."

Cato exhaled a sigh of relief for his students' maturity, "Good, now get this cleaned up. I have one more bundle of items to grab then we'll make lunch. Sound good?"

The young woman didn't turn, instead nodding her confirmation. When the squeak of the door confirmed he'd left, Lelei read over the page in question one last time. It seemed all that was needed now was a drop of mana infused blood to kickstart the process. Despite her teacher's request, the boundless curiosity inside her won out in the end. With a wince the bluenette cut one of her dainty digits before allowing the red liquid to descend upon the dry bones.

At first nothing happened. No light emitted from the chalk lines. No smoke appeared in the center. Not even the candles flickered. The young mage looked at the results with a small frown.

I thought I did it. Was there a part I did incorrectly? Perhaps Teacher was right, I should have done more research. Maybe it was just a practical jo-

A large tremor shook the ground the bluenette stood on, knocking the girl off her feet. At the same time the sunlight coming from the windows was cut off, like a lantern being blown out. Stumbling around the dark room and bumping into various things, the woman made it to one of the windows and attempted to peer outside. Instead of the surrounding trees she looked upon what looked like a bright red wall made up of oval shaped bricks. As Lelei leaned closer to determine the material of the foreign object, it opened to reveal a bright yellow slitted iris.

The young mage shot up in the cot, frantic and confused. This wasn't her room. In fact, she wasn't in a building at all but a tent. Where was her teacher? Why were her robes singed?

Before more questions and confusion could manifest, a pleasant voice drew the bluenette's attention, "Ah, I see our little friend has decided to join the living."

The motherly tone belonged to a tan voluptuous woman in a violet robe with gold stars smattered across the silky material. Her deep brown eyes crinkled in kindness as she smiled with full red lips at the disoriented young lady. Before Lelei could find her voice, caught in the web of this stranger's otherworldly allure, the woman stroked her lithe digits through the strands of azule. The unexpected affection soothed Lelei's fragile state, putting her under a trance of tranquility. Eventually, much to the bluenette's disappointment, the ministrations stopped before the woman sat on the side of the bed.

"Can you tell me your name dear?"

Despite the fact this was a total stranger, Lelei felt in her chest this person would do her no harm, "Lelei, my name is Lelei La Lalena."

The woman reached out to take her hand, causing her to unclench the blanket in her grasp, "That's a beautiful name Lalei, sounds like your mother might have had a favorite letter."

The light teasing made the girl blush, "Do you remember anything before you woke up Lelei?"

The mage closed her eyes and frowned in concentration, "I was in my home with Teacher," The robed woman's sympathetic glance was unnoticed as Lelei continued, "and I was attempting a new spell I had found. It was supposed to summon…" her voice trailed off as the memories came flooding back.

Something wet splashed onto their clasped hands. It continued again before Lelei identified the source of it. The tears came silently as her guilt grew in size. Before it could escalate into broken sobs a warm palm pressed against her cheek, "May his next life reward his bravery and selflessness. Your teacher died doing the most noble of actions, protecting a loved one."

The statement cut through the darkening thoughts of the mage. While the sorrow and pain were still present, the cold lump of shame left her throat. Without prompting the older woman enveloped her in a firm hug. Lelei reciprocated the action, letting out every bit of angst in the warm bosom of her company. Outside the tent Tony stood silently puffing a cigar, eyes downcast to the dirt.

After eavesdropping on the interaction, the Cuban decided the tent's occupants needed their privacy and walked toward the campfire set up in the center of the village. Ever since carrying back the young woman and informing the village Elder of the dragon, the peasants had spent the remainder of the day packing up what little valuables they could into carriages. The plan was to evacuate to the farms and towns of distant relatives to the west. By several accounts, this was standard procedure when a 'flame dragon' was spotted in the area.

The creatures were supposed to hibernate for centuries at a time, wake up, cause untold death and destruction, then go back to sleep with full bellies. Even the Empire, the best equipped army in the land, was powerless against the walking tanks. So when Angelo had boasted they had driven off the monster, naturally the peasants had requested their aid in relocating to a safer location. While the Kingpin had initially wanted to refuse, hoping to keep focused on the mission of killing the prince, it took the pleading of the men and a cold glare from Lati to convince him otherwise. Now he wandered aimlessly through the throng of sicarios eating, sleeping, and preparing for the journey tomorrow.

"Bad habits die hard, yes?"

Tony spotted the Elder sitting on his front steps, pipe in hand. Making his way toward the man, Tony pulled a second cigar from his pocket, clipped the end, and offered it. The old man took the contraband and placed it in his mouth. While fumbling for the box of matches in his trousers, a gold plated zippo lighter appeared in front of his face, the butane flame flickering in the night's breeze. The man grunted in thanks as he leaned forward to douse the end of the wrapped leaves in the light.

Together the two leaders silently puffed, the smoke rose into the cloudy sky. Eventually the comfortable silence was broken, "Who was the guy? Her father? Grandparent?"

The Elder took a deep toke before replying, "His name was Cato El Altesan. He was our resident magician and her mentor. They came to this place a decade ago, when Lelei was just ten years old. Despite his constant, and I mean constant, flirtations with some of the ladies of the village, he was a good man with a kind heart. Helped save my wife during one winter, otherwise sickness would have taken her."

"And the girl, she got anyone else?"

"I heard her mention a sister once. In the city of Rondel to the north. Other than that, I can't think of anyone."

Tony made a mental note of the settlement's name before asking a different question, "Why do you choose to trust us Tata? Shit, we're the ones that butchered your protection."

The phrase earned a snort from the man, "Despite their appearance, the Imperials are not protectors, just shiny tax collecting riff raff. Trust me when I say there are no innocent souls underneath that accursed banner."

"The same could be said for us."

The Elder shook his head and removed the habano to tap the ash off the end, "Far from it. Your mens actions concerning Gretel proved that."

"Gretel?"

"The little girl with the flower. Her father was killed in a bandit raid the previous summer. Poor Griselda was beside herself with worry for how to provide for her two children. Your man, what was his name?"

"Luis."

"Yes, that Luis may not have realized it but he gave the little one enough gold to set up that family for life."

Tony shifted the cigar in his mouth, "Okay that proves Luis is good, but what about the others? What about me? Most people look at me and all they see is the bad guy. So why didn't your people? Why didn't you?"

"Your eyes."

"What?"

"I could tell you were good from your eyes. The eyes never lie."

Being on the receiving end of the words made Tony feel strange. His insides felt… lighter.