By the time the moon hung high and white above the ruins of Tenochtitlan, the air around the "haunted zone"pulsed, not with fear this time, but something far more volatile.
Ehecatl stood at the center of the plaza they'd begun clearing over the past weeks, what was once a ceremonial square now became his outdoor war room.
His eyes scanned the faces in front of him. Old scars. Fresh bruises. Hardened jaws. Men who had scavenged, trained, and bled under his rules. Women who now walked taller, knowing how to gut a man with a blade or spot a patrol by footstep alone. They weren't soldiers. Not yet. But they were becoming something.
And tonight, he needed them once more.
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The Speech
"I see you all," Ehecatl began, voice loud and sharp. "You've bled with me. You've buried our dead. You've seen what this war really is. They fear us now. Every Caxtilteca patrol is hesitant to enter this zone because of you. Every ally who sold out our people stays far because of you."
He paced like a jaguar caged by rage.
"You think it was a coincidence they tried to send a speech through Cuauhtémoc? You think they aren't scared shitless of what we're building? They are. I don't care if their skin is pale or brown, if they kneel to Cortés they die for Cortés."
He raised his arquebus.
"This? This wasn't made by our hands. But I made it ours. And I promise you this — we're going to take more."
He slammed the weapon down on the stone, the echo silencing the crowd.
"Tomorrow night, we strike. Not the fringes. Not the weak ones. We hit a Caxtilteca checkpoint. We take their food. Their water. Their guns. And we leave no one behind to report back."
"If they want war, we give it to them in blood. Since our tlatoque can't act, then we will."
His voice dropped low, then rose again.
"We're not just surviving anymore. We're starting what the Caxtilteca call a 'Reconquista'."
When Ehecatl explained what Reconquista means the plaza erupted. Some clenched fists. Some screamed war cries. Others pounded spears into the ground. And Ehecatl stood at the center, eyes cold, knowing full well what he had just unleashed.
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The next night, the "haunted zone"emptied. Not with fear, but with precision.
They moved like ghosts. Silent. Coordinated. The older recruits led small teams of three to five. Each had a task. Each had a route. Each had blood in their eyes.
Ehecatl crouched behind a broken stone slab overlooking the Caxtilteca checkpoint near the causeway ruins. A torch flickered at the outpost gate. One Spaniard. Three native auxiliaries. They laughed, passed a gourd between them, oblivious.
Ehecatl raised his closed fist. The squads froze. His fingers opened. Three. Two. One.
Silence fell.
Then…
CRACK.
The arquebus fired from his shoulder. It kicked back harder than expected. The Spaniard collapsed backward with a sound like meat dropped on stone.
Panic.
Before the other three could even scream, they were swarmed.
Daggers slipped through ribs. Spears ran through backs. One tried to crawl away, only to be yanked down and silenced.
Not a single Caxtilteca, or their native auxiliaries was left breathing.
And as each of the Mexica fighters stepped back from the carnage, they whispered it like gospel:
"Remember… no Caxtilteca."
They stripped the checkpoint bare — arquebuses, powder horns, a sword, food satchels, clean water, even maps.
A young boy no older than twelve lifted a Spanish helmet off the corpse and claimed it.
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Elsewhere That Night…
Small fires flared in distant corners of the city. Reports of raids at food stores, on patrol groups, even messengers going missing. Every time a Spaniard or collaborator was found isolated, they were never seen again.
The haunted zone was expanding, not in land, but in fear.
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Back at the Plaza
Ehecatl stood over the pile of captured weapons.
He spoke calmly now, voice carrying not rage but certainty.
"Tonight we took more than their lives. We took their strength. Their sense of order. Their fear? It belongs to us now."
He turned to the new blood. Recent recruits, some still raw.
"You think this is over? No. This is just the start."
He raised his arquebus again.
"We will learn to use every weapon they have. Every trick. Every weakness. The Caxtilteca built their empire off overpowering those who don't have the same weapons and armor they do, and although we were countering and adapting to them we still fell, but once we get back up we won't stay down."
The crowd, tired but electric, chanted back as one:
"No Caxtilteca."
"No Caxtilteca."
"No Caxtilteca."
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Spanish Headquarters — Tenochtitlan
The tap tap tap of hurried boots echoed through the rubble-strewn halls of the Spanish command post.
It was still dark. The stars hadn't faded. The city hadn't stirred. But inside, the Caxtilteca command was erupting.
Captain Sandoval threw open the door, breathless, helmet still under his arm, and shouted:
"They hit six patrols. Six! And a checkpoint. They're not just hiding in that cursed zone anymore — they're striking out."
Cortés turned from the balcony. His cloak hung loose, hair unkempt, eyes tired but cold. Marina stood nearby, silently watching, arms crossed.
"What do you mean striking out?" he asked flatly.
"Raids. Ambushes. A dozen Castellanos missing, presumed dead. Tlaxcalteca patrols say they're being stalked now — picked off when alone. Supplies raided. Guns stolen."
"And the slaves?"
"More gone. Dozens. And every time it happens, the same thing is whispered—" Sandoval hesitated, looking uneasy. "They say it before killing us. They say… 'Amo Caxtilteca.'" (Amo means no in Nahuatl.)
Cortés didn't move.
Marina's expression soured. She looked down and muttered under her breath, "Están repitiendo lo que escucharon. Es un lema. Una maldición." (They're repeating what they hear. It's a motto. A curse.)
"They're organizing," she added aloud. "They have a leader now."
Cortés's hands clenched.
"The boy. The one from the haunted zone."
"Yes. The one who returned alive… and shot one of us with our own arquebus," said Sandoval bitterly. "It's spreading, sir. Even our allies are rattled. The Cholula messengers left early. The Totonacs are refusing to patrol alone."
"And the Tlaxcalans?"
"Demanding answers. They're afraid he's starting to turn the Mexica against all of them — calling all of them traitors, and enemies. They say some of their scouts went missing. Others are saying he walks with fire in his eyes — and that the gods follow him."
"Gods?" Cortés scoffed. "No. Not gods. Just fear."
He paced to the map table. A crude city plan lay marked with figures and ash-colored blotches. He stabbed a finger at the center.
"This is what he wants. To expand that haunted zone until it covers the entire city. He's turning superstition into strategy."
Marina stepped forward slowly.
"He's not acting alone. Not anymore. They follow him because he acts. They whisper his name now."
Cortés narrowed his eyes.
"Do they say what his name is?"
A long silence. Then Sandoval answered.
"Ehecatl."
Cortés's face hardened.
"So… now the wind god walks among the slaves."
He turned sharply.
"Double the watches. Triple them if needed. No more lone patrols. I want barricades in every district outside the cursed zone. If they raid again — I want every man, every dog, every fucking Indios Y Indias who run off, hunted down. And if another slave vanishes—"
He picked up a arquebus and slammed it down on the table.
"then we start executing ten of them for each that goes missing."
Marina flinched slightly. But she said nothing.
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The Tlaxcalteca council met before dawn, on the hard wooden benches beneath a reed roof. Smoke from last night's fires hung low; men moved quietly, rubbing at muscles and old wounds. The talk did not start with prayers or boasts. It began with a single, terrible rumor that had crossed the causeways all night:
"Amo Caxtilteca."
A slogan. A promise. A threat.
The phrase reached them in a dozen different mouths — whispered by frightened scouts, spat out by wounded runners, repeated by farmers who'd seen shadows move where soldiers once patrolled. Each telling carried the same edge: the Mexica in the haunted quarter no longer hid. They struck, they stole, they left no witness.
Tlacahuepan, one of the senior war-captains, spoke first. He had a deep scar across his cheek from a spear, and his voice carried the authority of a man who had stared down death twice as many times as he'd slept.
"Tonight they killed at a checkpoint," he said. "Took guns, took food. Our men who chased them were cut to pieces. This is not the work of frightened children, it is the work of men who mean to die in the act."
Ixconetl, a younger noble who had led raids alongside the Spanish, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "If the slogan means what we think, it is simple: not a single Spanish will remain alive whether it's the men, or the women and children that've tagged along. Today the enemy is Caxtilteca. Tomorrow it could be Tlaxcalteca. Or us. Or anyone who walks the streets at night."
A ripple passed through the small hall. The memory of the slaughtered scouts was still warm in their mouths.
An older councillor, Xayacatl, leaned forward. "We made a bargain when we marched with the Spaniard. He gave us the opportunity to break free from the Mexica blockade, he gave us a new opportunity to cut our enemies down. But we also gave them a question: who protects the roads now? If our people are hunted in their own wheelways, the bargain is broken."
Someone spat. "And what bargain? The Caxtilteca took temples, jewelry, women. They made allies of our enemies who once kneeled for the Mexica and called it peace. We bled for them once. We will not bleed for their ghosts now."
Tlacahuepan's jaw hardened. "We do not go soft on sentiment. We consider survival. If the Mexica gather and grow strong once more, they're going to make everyone who participated in their downfall feel what we made them feel, and they will not care whose banners fly. If this movement spreads, it will cut the legs off our own power, and we've just experienced power our ancestors never had before the Caxtilteca."
From the back, a veteran with bandaged hands — returned from a failed pursuit — cleared his throat. "They are not soft. I followed them into the canals. They fought like cornered jaguars. They stripped the living. I will not forget what they did to the patrol we encountered. The men don't look at us as a stepping stone as they once did in the flower wars, they have pure hatred in their eyes, and some of the women with them who were raped by our warriors have stuck daggers in the rear end of our warriors, and then sliced off their genitals. They are as ruthless to us as to the Spanish."
A murmur of agreement. The sentiment stung because it came from men who prided themselves on the efficiency of their warriors: they had thought of themselves as the check against Mexica resistance. Now they realize a new type of Mexica is growing, and they doubt the mexica will be content with using them for flower wars should the Mexica regain their power, as they have in the past.
Tlacahuepan folded his fingers. "We have options," he said, blunt and practical. "One: we press Cortés for more of his men and order the burning of the haunted quarter. Two: we withdraw our patrols from the canals and fortify our own towns — in effect, abandon our agreement. Three: we strike first — find the leader of this revolt and kill him. Or four: we try to make a deal."
Ixconetl's eyes flashed. "Deal? With who? A boy who calls our kinsmen traitors? He will not parley. Did you not hear what one of our warriors just said!? Any attempts to parlay will just have our envoy's manhood ripped and violated."
Xayacatl shook his head. "We are not children. A strike first could be the best course if we can find the boy. Kill the head, scatter the body. But know this, we have tried to hunt in those alleys. The haunted zone is not the usual fight. The ground turns. Men do not return the same. That is not only myth told to frighten us; our wounded brought back tales of ambushes planned like traps."
Silence fell, heavy with the weight of memory.
A flatter, colder voice cut through: Teotlalco, the Tlaxcalteca's diplomatic officer. "We cannot yet cut our strings. The Spaniards still have their uses. If we withdraw, we lose a strategic advantage and invite other altepetl to fill the gap. A public pullback will also signal weakness to our enemies. Yet if this continues, and our townsteads lose men and food, our people will not forgive the council."
"Then we must choose a plan that preserves both." Tlacahuepan tapped a finger on the earthen table. "I propose a threefold approach, and quickly."
He listed them cleanly:
• Intelligence: "Double scouts. Use small, silent bands to locate the boy. No large patrols. If we can find out where he sleeps, we can strike precisely."
• Security: "Reassign our patrols to avoid lone movement. Protect supply with doubles. Evacuate families from the occupied lowest-lying chinampas until we know these raids cease."
• Diplomacy: "Call Cortés and demand greater support for us to wield arquebuses, horses, swords, armor and more pikemen on the pretense of defending our people while occupying tenochtitlan. Offer a reward to any whether us, others from other altepetl who brings proof of Ehecatl's death."
Ixconetl scowled. "You would hand over more power to the Spanish if they allow us to wield the same things they do, at the expense of our people! You know as well as I that they won't just hand out their weapons, armor and horses without something to benefit themselves."
"I would hand our people the means to survive. The conquest of the Mexica wouldn't be possible without us, and now that the Mexica are becoming more and more familiar with Spanish weaponry and horses it's only fair for us to become familiar with them as well." Tlacahuepan's voice was flat.
Someone else, younger, visibly upset, rose and spat, "And what if it backfires? What if other altepetls think the same? We are not safe because Cortés blesses the alliance. His men are cornered and buying loyalty with promises."
They understood the worst truth. Their alliance with the Spaniard was not ironclad loyalty but a transaction.
Teotlalco's lips thinned. "If we ask Cortés for a purge, we risk further wrath from the Mexica, and if we act alone, we risk retribution from the Spanish who will not tolerate unilateral violence that jeopardizes their order."
Xayacatl spoke quietly, almost to himself. "We are between fires. The Caxtilteca hold the capital with their guns. The Mexica now hold the heart of the city with rage. If we stay, we burn. If we leave, we lose everything."
At last Tlacahuepan set his decision like an axe blow. "We cannot gamble with an open front. Tonight we send three small bands, not large patrols, just to learn, and not to fight. Quiet men, not battle hungry youths. If they can locate Ehecatl, we will decide. We will also send a messenger to Cortés privately, and demand he either increases the number of troops guarding the causeways, or have him teach us how to wield their weaponry. We will not be their slaves, but we will use what power we have left to survive."
The council nodded, not in relief but in acceptance. Survival had a price. For the Tlaxcalteca, the slogan "No Caxtilteca" was proof that their dead enemy is resurrecting. And the sting of that possibility cut deeper than any wound.
Outside, someone muttered that the boys in the haunted quarter had another rallying cry. Inside, the leaders had to face a harder truth: the revolt's logic was expanding beyond exact targets. Fear, once given shape, could be turned like a wheel, and any who stood too close would be crushed by momentum.
They chose the path that kept their people alive, for now. But each man left the meeting with the taste of iron in his mouth and the knowledge that the night had teeth, and those teeth were learning to bite.
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Deep Fear and Paranoia in Old Mexica Enemies (e.g., Huexotzinco, Chalco, Coyoacan)
The slogan sends shockwaves through these altepetl. Most of them were never close to the Mexica to begin with, or had love for the mexica, but they did ally with the Spanish out of mutual hatred, fear, and financial incentives. Now, many of their elders and nobles recall the long-standing domination the Mexica once imposed on them under the tribute system.
But Ehecatl's tone and targets don't feel like a return to imperial hierarchy, they feel like retribution.
"We offered ourselves as shields to the Spanish to avoid paying tribute, and now we will be struck first when that Ehecatl boy breaks Tenochtitlan's chains off."
Immediate reactions:
• Some altepetl quietly request protection from Spanish garrisons nearby.
• Others begin stockpiling tribute or wealth in hopes of buying mercy should Ehecatl's rebels reclaim Tenochtitlan.
• Secret envoys are sent to Cortés warning him that the alliance is breaking under fear.
They worry not only about what Ehecatl has done, but what he could inspire. His methods strike like a ghost—and they know the moment the Caxtilteca are done, they're next.
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Disillusionment in Former Mexica Allies (e.g., Tlatelolco, Texcoco, Tlacopan factions)
These were once part of the Triple Alliance. Their populations are fractured. Some nobles defected to the Spanish side early on to preserve their bloodlines. But the people? Many feel ashamed.
And Ehecatl's speeches hit hard.
They don't view him as a villain. They see him as someone doing what their own leaders failed to do. When he screamed that even the tlatoque failed the people, it wasn't betrayal it was truth.
"He is what our sons should have been raised into. He makes no excuse, only war."
Immediate reactions:
• Many young warriors and commoners begin sneaking out at night to find Ehecatl's resistance.
• Internal tension grows between the nobles who serve the Spanish and the youth who chant "Amo Caxtilteca" in secret.
• Elder nobles fear revolts within their own cities, not from the rebels—but from their own kin.
Some surviving nobles quietly wonder:
"Did we betray the Mexica, or did we betray ourselves?"
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Scout Reports: Ehecatl's Fanaticism Confirmed
Across the fractured Mesoamerican world, messengers and scouts return to their respective altepetl. They are shaken. Not all are bloodied—but all are visibly disturbed.
Findings:
• "It is not a god they follow, but it might as well be."
Ehecatl does not demand worship, but the fanaticism among the Mexica rebels is unshakable, and their motto echoes on every raid:
"Remember—no Caxtilteca."
• They believe they are fulfilling a divine will.
The Mexica under Ehecatl believe they are reclaiming destiny, driving out invaders, and punishing traitors—no matter their ethnicity. To them, either you fight for the Mexica… or you die for Spanish.
Ehecatl's Political Rhetoric: Quotes and Observations:
Scouts quote him with precision, as his words are repeated like mantras:
• On the Excan Tlatoloyan:
"We let too many govern themselves, speak their own tongues, worship their own idols. And look what they did. They bit the hand that let them live."
• On Cuauhtémoc:
"Huey Tlatoani Cuauhtémoc is a great man… but he was a good man, in a bad time. He fought with honor. I do not. Honor was taken from us the moment those bearded rats set foot in Anahuac."
• On the Tlaxcalteca and Totonacs:
"We should've crushed them fully and absorbed them. Made them one of us. Instead, we trained them in our games, and they remembered. On the matter of the Totonacs not a single one should be left alive. It was they who lured the Caxtilteca to the Tlaxcalteca, and look where it lead to, that cuiloni (a slur for homosexuals) Xicomecoatl and all of those in Zempoala will one day cease to exist, and will only live on the lips of others. A warning and a story for those who are against us."
• On the Triple Alliance:
• Texcoco: "Burn it. Burn their books, kill their men, their boys, and take their women, salt their chinampas." He speaks the name Ixtilxochitl like a slur, referencing how the noble betrayed even his own people and made his mother bow before a foreign god at the threat of death.
• Tlatelolco: Seen as redeemable. He honors their loyalty and sacrifice. Some of his key officers are of Tlatelolca blood.
• Tlacopan: Respected for staying loyal until the very end.
New Terminology Gaining Traction in the Movement:
• "Ixtilxochitl" – Used to label any man who betrays his people, collaborates with Spaniards, or turns on the Mexica legacy.
"You act like an Ixtilxochitl, bowing while the Spanish take advantage of your family."
• "Malinalli" – Used to shame women who serve the Spanish or bear their children.
"A Malinalli may birth a bastard, but they'll always only be viewed as an exotic and promiscuous woman."
These words are catching on even beyond the rebel camps—spoken in fear, whispered among villages, and sometimes used by children playing war.
Reactions From Each Altepetl Leadership
Tlaxcala:
They knew Ehecatl was dangerous—but this confirmed something else:
He's building an ideology. A mission. A doctrine.
And they are central to it.
Panic rises in war councils. Some even float the idea of:
• Sending assassins.
• Begging Cortés to reinforce the central valley with more Caxtilteca troops.
Texcoco:
Shock and personal horror.
Their ruler, Ixtilxochitl II, is now the name for traitor. Mothers weep. Their former ally wants an absolute annihilation of them.
Council debates grow heated. Should they:
• Send gifts to Cortés to prove loyalty?
• Double down on exterminating all known Ehecatl cells?
• Or quietly prepare for Texcoco's fall?
Some nobles privately wonder:
"Would it have been better if we never chose a side?"
Former Allies (e.g., Huexotzinco, Chalco):
They now realize: there is no middle ground.
Ehecatl does not see the war as Spain vs. Tenochtitlan—it is Mexica vs. the world.
Some even whisper:
"This isn't just a rebellion. It's a reckoning."
Peripheral Allies (e.g., Totonacs, Otomi, Nahua splinters):
Terrified.
Many had hoped the Mexica were broken, too scattered to ever rise again.
But now… they see the Mexica rising harder, colder, more resolved. None are more frightened than the Totonacs, now knowing they too are on the Mexica Shit list alongside Texcoco with no hopes of things being the way they once were. Some begin preparing escape routes. Others send gifts to both Cortés and to Ehecatl.