23

Deathmask is tired. His legs and lower back ache. Going back and forth terrorizing villages and towns, and leading legions of fiends, makes your knees ache. But what else can he do? He's a chain-maker, that's what he does for a living. He was never told that he had to pay obeisance to Lord Enslaver, but he learned that quickly when he saw fellow soldiers being used to emblazon vehicles and armor. To be fair, and compared to most people in Australia, his life is one of luxury. When he gets tired of stealing, killing, dominating, and raping, he can do as he pleases, and what Achu likes to do is lie in his man room and watch movies until dawn.

He inserts the tape inside the VHS, an old device that the burned man fixed for him. Another sign of the genius of that old mummy, normal that Lord Enslaver requested it, and that Achú had to send him to die.

(Lord Enslaver is already powerful enough.... There was no need to add more danger with the burned man at stake).

The excuse he sent with his messengers, is that they discovered a plan by the burned man to assassinate Lord Enslaver, and therefore had to act and punish him. Achu thought of impaling him, but he had sympathy for the old man, who had worked very well for him. He opted to be sympathetic and let him die in front of the elements, so that the scientist would have time to think and be at peace with himself.

(Shura is right... Sometimes I'm too soft)

He plops down on his eared couch, positioned in front of the thick analog television. The blue screen shudders as the VHS reads the tape, being a crafty device that takes seconds to minutes.

(With Rocky 4 it took ten minutes.... And it was worth every damn second)

He reaches for the small table next to the armchair, on top of which is a bowl of cotufas and a glass of roach juice with ice. He takes the glass and takes a long sip. Cockroach juice is a good replacement for orange juice, very nutritious, even if you sometimes get bits of it stuck between your teeth.

"All right, my beauties, which of you will accompany me on this new evening?" He says aloud, and looks at his shelf full of tapes, each one properly labeled with his name, including several exotic gems such as the extended and uncensored version of 'Galaxy of Terror', or 'Casablanca' with its alternate ending. But he doesn't look at his film treasures, he looks at his bone treasures.

At the top of the shelf there is a string of white skulls staring back at him. They are not just any heads, but those of his favorites, the women he loved the most, starting with his mother's, the first on the left and the oldest in the collection, adorned with a thick navy blue veil, just as Achú remembers her in life.

"What's the matter, no one says anything? Looks like I'll have to get up, go over there, and ask them the question again. No, it's no bother. As you can see, the screen is still blue"

He rises from the couch and approaches the shelf. He examines each one, runs his fingertips over the ornaments that endow the inert ivory expressions with personality. He remembers wanting to get Lorena a Spanish Navy cap, but only finding a generic ENA one, with its emblem of the world inside a shield.

With Vigdis there was no need for such a search, she was a simple girl with a simple life, with a beautiful smile, who spent her days taking care of her father's cows. Vigdis saved Achú from a patrol of the Libertarian Company. When he arrived at her farm in the middle of a stormy night, he had to lie to her, he told the girl that the wound in his abdomen was caused by an accident, and she so naively believed him and saved him. A week later, when the peasant girl really found out what Deathmask is, and Achú saw the horror in her eyes, he understood that it was time to apply the blade.

"The reliable blade... She never fails me" he muses as he adjusts the blond double-tailed wig on Vigdis. He continues the review, and frowns as he faces Martha. His right-hand woman, his favorite slaver, and a viper who tried to overthrow him one night before Christmas, that he couldn't forgive.

To get over the bad memory, Deathmask jumps straight to his favorite head.

"Oh, my beloved" he says fondly to the most beautiful woman he ever met. It was an instantaneous crush, stripped as she was, beaten by the incessant environment and loneliness of cruel Australia, she preserved in her upright posture and head held high an undeniable dignity.

Savage! That is the consensus of a good part of the cadeneros for the tribes of the wilderness, and Deadmask shared that opinion, but then she discovered that, compared to her muse, all those 'cultured men' have the decency of ticks. She, with her copper skin, her long inky pigtail, and her bone ornaments that gave her her deserved place as a lady of the primitive, far surpassed them.

"In a fairer world, you and me would have been happy"

But she labeled him at first glance as just another tyrant, and though there were women in the world indecent enough to share the sins, Nadjela was too noble to accept. Wanting to avoid slights with the woman who took his breath away, he snatched her head. Mind you, it took more than three blows instead of his usual accurate slash, another proof of how nervous he was even in front of the pile.

"Achu!"

The sound of the door bursting open startles him. He turns to find the only person who can call him by his real name without suffering the consequences: his sister Shura.

"I hope the day comes when you grow up and throw those ugly things in the trash!"

Deathmask stares at him with dead eyes, at that point the only thing he could see of Shura were her lips, too big, too striking, it reminded him of a fish, and she always painted them the same color as her wavy hair. Greens, reds, golds, imitation of the natural manes of those who live above the atmosphere. Elon's principality! For women like Shura, coming from space kind of gave you cachet, even if you vomit blood the first few times you get used to the pressure of a real planet.

"It won't be long before the tournament starts. For heaven's sake, put on something decent before you leave" she says as if the violet-tinted leather that clings to her like a second skin, and leaves noticeable areas of skin like her cleavage, back, thighs, and hips out in the open, is something a decent slaver would wear.

(Spikes and chains, damn it! Only spikes and chains! And a color that won't stab your eyes) Achu saves himself from saying those thoughts aloud, he doesn't want to argue. Least of all that day, where she will finally find someone to take care of her. (May God give me strength...)

It all started a couple of weeks ago after Shura's 30th birthday. Achu, like a good brother, prepared a party for her with everything he knew she liked: Marquise cake; Balloons; six-foot teddy bears; And a bunch of solid young slaves to satisfy her. He thought with that Shura would be in the mood for a while, but then one of the guards interrupted his Ghostbusters marathon to tell him that something happened in his sister's bedroom.

Achu went, planted himself in front of the bedroom door, opened it, and the potent and familiar smell of rust slapped him, preceding the sight of his sister huddled in a circle of severed bodies. Shura sank her face between her knees, rocking back and forth in the still-warm blood, her five-headed laser whip dull and limp in her hand. Achu remembers running his hand over his face, walking in and asking what happened. Shura turned her face up and exclaimed.

(I'm old!)

Giving her a handful of solid slaves was not a bad idea, the problem turned out to be that they were young. Thirty childless and loveless years fell on Shura like cannonballs, she even threatened to throw herself off the top of the dome after the incident. Achu, fed up with her tantrums, shouted at her: "Come on, do it! I don't care!"

Thereupon Shura left the railing and started pestering that she wanted a husband. Death Mask, with the idea of getting rid of her, agreed.... But she was speechless when she discovered that no one wanted to marry her. Known womanizers rushed to settle down just the day after the news spread. Dick Buenatranca, the famous stud who was said to give any woman an orgasm with a single thrust, announced his homosexuality. Even among men given to spreading terror, Shura was too cruel and frightening.

"Will die old, fat, and alone!"

After that declaration Shura secretly began to order several nuclear warheads through the chain market. The infamous merchants, fearing the worst, passed the news to Achu who realized that he had only two solutions to avoid a disgrace. Either he would behead Shura, or find her a husband....

As always, the idea of beheading was the one that made the most sense to him, but Shura is smart, she would be suspicious as soon as he asked her to pick up something from the ground, and if they guessed his intentions, Achú was sure she would kill him first.

(There must be a way to get some poor devil to marry her)

Threats were of little use; everyone preferred the quick cut of a blade to a long life with Shura. A million opals were not enough to motivate the heartless. Luckily Achu was struck by inspiration when he saw Braveheart.

(Freedom... Sure, there's the answer!)

Over the years his cages contained people of all kinds: Tribals; Junkers; Soldiers; Mutants; and the occasional disgraced nobleman. With these people he traded, or he himself used them as labor, or entertainment, and sometimes as cannon fodder when it was time to go to war. Some of them knew how to fight, a few of them could even go toe-to-toe with the best chainmen.

(Those who have been under my rule for a long time won't serve, surely they already know Shura's bad reputation? But the newcomers could serve)

And he had the option of returning to them those they longed for most.... Freedom! That would be the main prize, and to complement it the hand of a beautiful chain queen. The idea began to take shape in Achu's head, and when he presented it to Shura, she frowned as she did not want to rub shoulders with a weak man, but Achu sold it to her as follows:

"I would never allow weak genes to contaminate your essence, dear sister! That's why I will give the chance to brave heroes, defeated yes, but very brave, to fight and, with effort and bravery, change their sealed destiny for a brighter one.... One together with you"

He knew Shura liked those cheap romance dramas, those difficult passions. The woman's face lit up after imagining a manly gladiator in chains fighting to be a free man, to be HER man. From then on the brothers worked on the event: Achú spreading the news that he was willing to give substantial sums for the strongest and most handsome slaves; Shura exercising her buttocks and instructing herself in cooking classes, her idea of married life was one where she herself would prepare her husband's food, not some vulgar slave.

Achu looks at himself in the mirror: his hair is straight; his beard is neatly trimmed, but with a pale stripe reminiscent of Martha's dagger; his twin spiked shoulder pads; a strip of black leather crosses from his left shoulder to his right side over his bare abdomen, and his pecs are marked by the daggers of his enemies; his strong back is covered by a steel plate; leather pants also emphasize his firm buttocks; and he wears brown combat boots. In his left hand he holds the handle of his blade, which has an iron spine to give more weight to his guillotine-style blows. From a bust of Julio Cesar Achú he takes the detail that gives him his name, a shiny metal crown mask, in the shape of a devil with long side horns. With that mask on, Achú becomes more monster than man.

He leaves the bedroom. The guards at the door tense at the sight of him, salute, and Achú walks on. The reinforced concrete corridor curves with the contours of the dome. He reaches the stairs leading up to the parco, takes a deep breath, and takes the first step.

The parco is a beaked metal box fitted into the head of the immense bowl, with a balcony without a railing flanked by speakers and gargoyles with flaming eyes, and in the bosom two thrones of carved bone, Achu's being taller and standing more to the front than Shura's for some reason. The stands are full, there are cheers for violence.

Television cameras broadcast live to those who pay to see blood from the privacy of home. The dome also records to produce the best content of fights and gladiators. Some directors buy the footage for use in film montages, considering it more compelling and effective material than that generated by artificial intelligence.

The back of the coliseum, with its floor made up of dust, teeth, and blood, is empty for the moment. Shura stands to welcome his brother, extending his hand in an unspoken ritual, which Achú accepts, shaking his fingers, and both turn to the spectators and raise their joined hands. A clamor erupts from the crowd toward their tyrants. Shura sits down, and Achú goes to the amplifier on the balcony.

"Let in the sacrifices in the name of freedom!"

The gates inside the pulula open, and eleven athletic prospects emerge onto the scene.

(Eleven...? Didn't I only buy ten?)

They appear in two rows, the first of six and the second of five, each attired in garb that epitomized the different backgrounds of each, making them look gallant, palatable to their sister, who probed them earnestly. Deathmask raises a fist to give his opening speech, but the words are stuck in his mouth when he sees the sixth man step forward to his fellows.

"That hair like the sky..." Murmurs Shura to his left, remaining with her sensual lips slightly ajar, impressed by the erect back of that man who moved so freely among warriors of vanquished pride. Shura gives a satisfied smile to her brother. "He wears the garments of a beggar and the aura of an aristocrat..... A vagabond prince. That and the pink one, two nobles to me. You finally understand me, little brother. I hope one of those two wins"

Achu doesn't answer, he was too busy running his thumb along the handle of the blade, worried, because something deep down inside told him that a serious mess had occurred. First, he had only managed to get his hands on one of the Nixx house, the one with the slim body that he put in a spotless suit with a rose around his neck. Second, he made very clear the instructions to wait for his speech, but that man with dark glasses did not seem to understand the message, and to make matters worse, he points his sword at him, at the throne of the slave chief! Achú blinks repeatedly without understanding.

"Deathmask! Achú!" he shouts without being afraid to use the tyrant's real name. The disrespect silences the stands, only the lion continues to roar. "I, Chester Lancaster, challenge you to a duel! The winner takes all"