The setting sun reddened the sky, and warmth soaked the earth. Between sky and earth stood tall wooden poles, tied hair, and densely packed heads. More than eight hundred pairs of wide-open eyes stared from midair, gathered into clusters. From afar, they looked like "dandelions" drifting in the wind.
The dandelions cast down the gazes of the dead, staring unwillingly at heaven and earth. Those gazes fell upon the sky and turned into a deep red glow filling the heavens; they fell upon the ground, and became tens of thousands of prostrate figures. Those figures cowered, trembled, hunched, wept, and had once denounced others in despair.
Now, all the hierarchy, order, and tradition of the tribes had been hacked apart by the Copper Axes of the Purepecha Warriors, leaving only fear carved into the marrow and utterly numb obedience.
The cruel denunciations lasted half a day, and the executions that followed were swift to the extreme. More than twenty hidden noble warriors were ultimately exposed by the desperate Moth People, along with over a hundred strong men who had taken part in the riot. Then, under the witness of the setting sun, the remaining eight hundred-plus captives, whether Tlascalan nobles, warriors, or Moth People, were all forced to the ground by the Spear Warriors and executed one by one!
Copper Axes swung, heads hung high, bright red blood flowed wantonly, and piercing wails sounded out before vanishing. When the setting sun dipped westward and flocks of crows cried along the horizon, the plaza at the center of Eight Hundred Town was dead silent, with no potential resistance left at all.
Spear Camp Commander Pimon held an axe with a curled edge, panting slightly. A thick stench of blood filled his nose, and his eyes were red. Like a hound of