Tezca blinked open bleary eyes. He was… laying on the floor? His face was level with planks of weathered wood. And past that, the town square. People walking around, mingling. He heard laughter.

  It came rushing back and Tezca flailed with panic. The crossbeam broke in half, and he fell into the pit beneath the structure’s deck, landing in the muck, knees splashing in a pool of his own blood. Gasping, Tezca’s fingers went to his neck where they pressed against wet, bumpy granulation tissue.

  The people in the square were shouting; footsteps were closing in. Tezca crawled out from beneath the gallows and ran, ran like he’d never run before.

  He plunged into the embrace of the jungle, following the overgrown path that led to the place where he’d killed the jaguar.

  The voices followed him into the woods, his neighbors chasing him down.

  “Leave me alone!” Tezca screamed.

  But gods, how was he moving so fast? His legs were so powerful. He felt incredible.

  Tezca had heard the stories of unnatural resurrections that birthed wielders of great power. Sorcerers. But he’d never thought…

  ***

  Tezca stood over the corpse of his last pursuer. Well, the last that remained—most of them had fled once they learned what they were dealing with.

  He hadn’t just killed them—he’d ripped them apart as easily as crab meat, crushed their heads like tomatoes. And it wasn’t just that Tezca was strong. No. He’d gotten his head split open by a hatchet. Zug ran him through with a pitchfork. The wounds healed.

  His was the strength of a god.

  Hands on his hips, Tezca looked at the myriad knotted paths that split through the dark thick of the jungle. He’d never ventured so deep. The midday sun blazed despite the canopy overhead. The suffocating humidity was even worse.

  His strange new powers did nothing for the sweat—it poured down his face like rain rushing out of a gutter. And his throat needled with thirst, as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of broken glass.

  Dazed, Tezca wandered deeper. Though his body proved tireless, he suffered. And yet there was a… disconnect between his sense of self and his discomforts. His thirst, his pains—they felt like memories of such things. Exhaustion smothered his mind though, and that was present and pervasive.

  He collapsed—on purpose—flattening a thicket of vegetation. What a bizarre day. It was only natural that surviving death would take a toll, but he did not care for the erratic cast of his thoughts. Sleep would do him good. It would’ve been nice to find a bite to eat, but he was too comfortable to get back up.

  It started raining.

  Tezca rolled over onto his back and opened his mouth wide. The thick droplets fell heavy, cool and refreshing despite the acidic taint of the rainwater.

  For today, this was good enough.

  ***

  Two weeks passed.

  Tezca came to love the jungle. Free from his neighbors and their bullshittery, he’d eaten two more jaguars. He only wished he had access to his spice cabinet.

  Despite the blandness of the meat, he counted himself lucky. If not for his strange new powers, Tezca would’ve died on the second day, for he knew nothing of survival. He ate raw meat and poisonous creatures and drank stagnant water without consequences. One of the jaguars had torn his foot off and ten minutes later, it had grown back! He believed he might be unkillable.

  Still, Tezca was not sated. Ideas stirred within his large brain, and he dreamed of revenge. The villagers would regret the way they treated him. But not yet.

  Tezca felt in his bones that he was in the midst of a pivotal quest, a journey of personal discovery and self-improvement.

  Every day, he forged ahead, although he may have been going in circles. The heat was his worst enemy. He covered his exposed skin with mud and monstera leaves, but still sweat like a goddamned fountain.

  His invulnerability made him reckless and animalistic. Tezca plowed through the jungle, heedless, trampling small trees and breaking through the branches of larger ones. His wounds healed before he even noticed them.

  He’d been bitten by countless snakes and scorpions. And he very much enjoyed eating the little poison dart frogs. They tasted like tart candy, and every color had a unique flavor.

  Through a gap in the foliage, he spotted a clearing—a rarity this deep in the jungle. Tezca believed it must have been centuries since a human had stepped foot in these parts. When sentimentality struck, he wondered if this land was Eden reclaimed.

  Tezca entered the grove, and the sight made him question his sanity. A pool of crystal-clear water, glistening in the sunlight.

  He salivated. He had not had a proper drink of water since he left Malikau. There was fruit in the jungle, and plump bugs, and he often drank from the slimy puddles and foul ponds. But the blackened rivers that ran through the jungle infected every other source of water with their filth.

  More than anything, except his kitchen, Tezca missed good drinking water. He yearned for it every night as he tried to sleep. Nothing else cleaned the palate so well. Especially when one had not had the chance to grab some toothpaste.

  Grinning from ear to ear, Tezca approached the pool. He knelt in the lush grass that rimmed its edges. The blades were as soft as fur and somehow trim, while the ground beneath was firm despite the proximity to the water. It felt strange to take a step without sinking into a layer of muck. The color of the grass was so pure and vibrant that it seemed unreal. The jungle’s usual shades of green were dark and oppressive.

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  Shaking with awe, Tezca cupped his hands and filled them. How is it so cold? The sun beamed down, yet this water felt like it’d come out of a refrigerator.

  He brought his hands to his lips and drank. It was even more rejuvenating than actual resurrection.

  Tezca dunked his face into the water, drinking like a dog. He stood, intending to strip off his ragged clothes and dive in—a bath would be glorious. But then he saw how all the trees in this grove bore bright, robust fruits. Mangos, bananas, papayas—their skin shone, unmarred by the jungle’s putrid taint.

  He smiled. Paradise. He need never leave this place. He need not return to the village.

  “Help me. Please.”

  The voice was grating and raspy, and commanding. Tezca spun, searching for the source. Perhaps it was the way the words filled his head, or the goosebumps pimpling up his arms—he knew the speaker was not human.

  There. It lay on the far side of the pool, a huge, birdlike creature. It was about as wide as him and would be much taller if it stood up. How had he not seen it before?

  Its plumage was a beautiful shade of shimmering green that well-matched the lovely grass. But the feathers were ruffled and tufty and patched with gunky black stains. The creature covered its head with one wing. The other stuck up at an odd angle, broken.

  Tezca laughed. “Are you a talking bird?”

  “No. Well… yes,” the voice answered.

  Tezca hurried over. “Maybe I ate a hallucinogenic frog,” he muttered to himself as he rounded the pool. A prickly chill came upon the air.

  His mouth fell open as he stood over the beast. Human arms protruded from its chest, the skin withered and tight over the bones. And on the broken wing, eyes—no, a whole face—regarding him through a crook. Though the eyes were empty pits and the face merely a bulge formed of shaped feathers, it captivated him.

  Tezca shook his head. Just a giant eagle. He nudged the creature with his foot. It flinched, crying in agony. He heard the sound twice. To his ears, an animal shriek with a lingering echo. In his head, a human whimper.

  The injured wing fluttered and something like red-black tar oozed from the slit of a mouth.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Tezca said. “What are you?”

  To his surprise, the creature relaxed at his words, uncovering its head. It was almost like an eagle, but with a couple of uncanny differences. The face was flatter and elongated; the eyes hooded and almond-shaped. The beak—the only part except the legs that was not bright green—was alabaster white, and it hung open, quivering with the beast’s ragged breaths.

  The great eagle eased out of its huddled posture, laying back, exposing itself and revealing three deep gashes on its breast. More of the merlot-colored blood streamed from those wounds. Within the sappy substance, a smoky essence moved, twitchy and erratic, like a pile of feasting ants.

  Tezca wrinkled his nose at the stench, like sulfur and bleach. Where that foul liquid had dripped, the grass had wilted.

  He backed away as the beast reached toward him with one of its human arms.

  “I am a goddess,” it rasped. The mouth did not move when it spoke—only a whining wheeze escaped from the agape beak. Green-in-green eyes, like emeralds, stared at Tezca, unblinking and depthless.

  Tezca scratched his chin. “A goddess? A goddess of what?”

  “Storms,” the beast growled. “My name is Jade, Daughter of Gaia, who once loved everything. I am dying, she is dying, they are dying, we are dying. I am begging-begging-begging for your mercy.”

  Tezca plopped down beside her, trying to ignore the fact that she dwarfed him. “I dunno much about mercy. You look tough, though. What could’ve hurt you?”

  “A dragon-rider with a knife lodged in his eye. A servant of Ezathiza. I don’t—”

  “Ohoho, holy shit! A dragon?”

  “He has done something to my blood-my blood-my blood. Corruption fills me. I am dying, Tezca.”

  Tezca nodded and tilted his head to better examine the gushing wounds. “I can see that.” He jumped to his feet. “How do you know my name?” he barked as he stomped on the beast’s ankle.

  Jade shrieked and spasmed, the broken wing flapping against Tezca’s back. She swatted with one of her human hands. Tezca caught it by the fingers and bent them backward. He grinned as he did so. She is weak.

  In his head, the goddess laughed. “I speak in your mind. You look upon my blood. How could I not see your name?”

  Her laughter soothed him. Tezca released her hand and took his foot away from her leg. “You want my help? I think you need a doctor. I’m more of a butcher.”

  “I see you’ve been touched by the silver-winged Interloper. The starborn Granter of Wishes. I always thought it strange how she resembles a Terran butterfly. It… settles me. My mother made the butterfly so beautiful and gentle. There must be…”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Tezca said. “Just tell me fast—what’d you need me to do, and why should I do it?”

  He had the sensation of a splitting headache, but it passed after a couple of heartbeats.

  Jade laughed again, this time in a cruel manner that set Tezca’s teeth on edge. “I do not know if the damage I’ve sustained is survivable. Ezathiza is an anathema. Cancerous.”

  “Enough with the mumbo-jumbo,” Tezca said.

  The goddess spoke softly in his head, like a mother singing a lullaby. “Do not let yourself be consumed by your worst impulses, child. Please. My temple is nearby. My worshippers might be able to save me. You must go there. I can guide you. Go to them and bring them here. I need clean blood. You will be rewarded. I need clean blood.”

  “What’s the reward?”

  “What do you desire, Tezca? I offer riches and lifelong sanctuary. My devotees will treat you as a hero.”

  “No thanks. I don’t want to join your cult.”

  Jade started to say something in his head, but faltered as her physical body went into a fit of writhing and gagging. She tried again. “I’m not so petty as to demand your faith. You will live not among them but above them, in luxury. An honored guest. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.”

  Tezca pressed his fingertips together and held them to his lips. “But what if you do die? I’d be shit out of luck, wouldn’t I?”

  Jade’s presence in his mind seemed to freeze, sputtering. A grating tone sounded, a perpetual metal-on-metal screech. Her voice took on a choral, guttural tone. “Death, death, death. The arrival of the Interlopers. You call it Apocalypse. We call it Genesis. Myth and memory made manifest; the past warped by the ocean of blood in the soil. We were born to be slaughtered. They conduct pantheocide as if we’re cultivated crops. I was a senseless force, and I suffer ever-developing lucidity. I do not understand? I am dying. I am dying. I am dying.”

  “Fucking hell. Shut up, lady,” Tezca said. He feigned a kick, causing the goddess to flinch and cover herself with her broken wing. “Our roles are reversed from the usual, aren’t they? Here’s the problem. I want something priceless.”

  The bird-mouth shrieked as Jade said, “The temple is not far. Please! I don’t want to die.”

  “The problem is,” Tezca shouted to drown out her voice, “the thing I want doesn’t jibe with your survival.”

  He felt her fear blossom in his head. She was like a deer struck by an arrow, lying on the ground, watching the hunter approach. Tezca salivated.

  “Riches and luxury sound nice, but I’m a man who is committed to his dream. I will try every food in the World. Except human meat—I would never resort to cannibalism.”

  “I am dying. I am dying.”

  “Yes,” Tezca said, looming over her. A goddess brought as low as a fawn. “I’ve only eaten eagle once. They’re devilish to catch. And it was small. And it wasn’t green, or a goddess. I’m sorry. I appreciate your offer. Maybe you’re not such a bad god, I dunno. But this is an opportunity that I can’t afford to pass on. I am going to eat you, Jade.”

  Tezca tensed as her fear evaporated.

  Storm clouds gathered above, obscuring the sun and casting the grove in darkness.

  “Butterflies are mindless in their whimsy,” Jade said.