During my moment of distraught, the serpent’s moon shadow fell over me, the monster’s reflection in the lake drawing nearer in a strike. At which point, I let the serpent’s rage consume me, allowing images to flood my thoughts. Images much like my dreams. I pushed them aside temporarily to let my instincts take over. I jumped out of the way when the serpent snapped its jaw where I once knelt. Taking advantage of my murderous state, I drew my hanger. The serpent struck again only to receive a gash on the nose. Roaring in anguish, his body thrashed, knocking me and my hanger to the ground. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed my sword. The serpent twisted his neck to block my path, causing me to trip and fall into his moist flesh.
My head swimming, an image forced itself into my mind. A group of indigenous people, the Mayans, were performing a ceremony of some kind, and I was among them. We all were in fine furs and headdresses. I held a string covered in thorns in my hand, which I placed into my mouth. While the others chanted. I pulled the thorns over my tongue. Each prick far worse than that of a bee sting. Despite the pain, my actions were giving me pleasure and a release I never thought I could imagine. Blood filled my mouth, staining the rope and even my hands. While its taste seduced me farther into the trance, I pondered on the liquid’s significance as the Mayan’s life force. Without spilling it, the world would fall into chaos. With the last pull, I held the thorns over a fire blazing before me. The heat of the flames burning the tips of my fingers. I dropped the thorns in, and a great veil of smoke rose into the air, taking on the shape of the feather serpent. It spiraled higher and higher until it became the same creature I saw in my mind. And from his mouth, he spoke to me in an ancestral tongue.
Gasping in fear, my thoughts crashed back into reality. The serpent’s face only feet from where I laid. That’s when I realized I wasn’t fighting against some mythical creature.
I was fighting an ancient god.