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XII. Cenote

The living were shackled and marched between the animated dead that led the attack, and those that were added after.

Butterscotch continued to look back at Cheeks, his reason gone, and the only thing left in its place was the weeping of a shattered parent.

“I’m sorry, Butterscotch,” he said, trying to find the words or an action, anything to comfort the broken guinea pog.

Butterscotch said nothing, and so the lone human in the group did his best to focus on the world around him, and with each step he prayed the helmet would come off his face and he could go back to his life. Being nearly homeless in a dead city was better than.. whatever this was.

The captive pogs were marched for a day and night through the thick jungle of their home, and at last the party came to a cave. He scratched his head as best as he could with both hands bound together with tough hemp rope and searched his memory for the actual term for this sort of cave. They were common in Mexico and maybe Guatemala? That dead British guy that narrated the episodes of his dad's favorite doc… what was it called again.. Oh right.. Planet Earth with David Attenborough.

“Cenote!” He yelled in triumph noting it was from the caves episode.

His yell was matched by an evil hiss in the background, and a hulking rotting pog came and struck him in his stomach hard enough that he looked to make sure the hand hadn’t gone through his skin.

Looking at the monstrosity, he decided a jungle was not a great place for rotting meat.

Once he recovered from his belting, he looked around for Butterscotch but did not see the old creature anywhere. He actually grew quite bored sitting in the sweltering shade above the limestone opening and wondered what exactly they were waiting for. He needed not to wait long.

As soon as night fell, the chinchillas began to chant at the lip of the cavern, and as they finished their fell incantation, they selected several of the women and children of the group to be brought forward.

“You! Man flesh,” growled one of the hooded chinchillas.

He was brought before the group and forced down to his knees. The chinchilla revealed its face, and there was something in her face that struck a chord.

“Mary?” He said.

His query was answered with a wicked laugh to the heavens and a cackling,


Once the tirade was over, the chinchilla looked at him again.

He was mumbling “it's a game,” to himself over and over when he felt the long slender claws of her hand wrap around his jaw.

“Oh, it's a game,” she said.

“It's just mine. Bring those to me,” Mary said pointing at the pre-selected captives.

“Sisters,” Mary said, motioning to the other chinchillas.

Each selected one of the Pogs, and he watched as their throats were slit and each body was tossed into the cenote and hit with a sickening and final splash. Mary turned to watch his expression and motioned for him to come to the lip and see. He found his feet moving almost on their own accord.

As he looked down, he saw the large cenote had become a frothing pit of blood. He could feel power there, and the look on Mary's face told him she had been waiting to see if he could tell or not.

She seemed pleased, and he felt relief? He continued to watch as the frothing torrent of blood and foam began to abate, and in its wake was a lone cylindrical staircase hugging the limestone wall of the now empty cavern.

Even in the dark he could tell it was a portal to one hell or another.

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