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The last drop of sunlight spilled out from behind Tepeyacac. Knees bloodied and raw from his ascension, he stood up, arms stretched wide, each hand brandishing his pistolas, and emptied both cylinders. He felt it. He was different now. Did she do this? Did she answer his prayers? Maybe. Or maybe it was his ancestors for they too run deep inside him. Deeper than any ritual could ever touch. After all, blood is thicker than water...and prayers. And his Irish blood ran deep.