“Mom used to read me a story about an executioner that took lives for credits. Every day, he would sharpen his axe against the grinding wheel and steel himself to kill those scheduled to die.”

“With every head lobbed off the victim’s bodies, the guiltier he felt for taking the job in the first place. Some of these people were put on the chopping block for petty crimes that didn’t deserve the death penalty. However, he knew that if he protested, he’d be next in line to die.”

“When the line ran dry or the day was done, he’d return home to his wife, who would console him and attempt to alleviate his guilt by saying that they needed the credits. She would tell him that what he was doing was just, and everyone that was scheduled to be killed deserved it.”

“She would tell him this every night, not caring about those he offs. She just saw a profit to be earned and a weak man that needed to be convinced into continuing when his shift was done.”

“While the executioner’s hands were stained with blood, his wife’s were covered in it.”

“She used her own spouse as a tool for her ends, hand wrapped around his handle until her knuckles turned white.”

“Clinging to him for her life.”

“Look at your hands, Muerte. Look at them and notice how they’re covered in blood, just like your lover’s. Look at them and know that while she was the executioner, you played the part of judge and jury.”

“You could’ve stopped her from setting off the bomb that killed so many in the Red Light District. You could’ve prevented her from becoming the most reviled woman in Arcadia by ensuring she never detonated that damned thing in the first place.”

“Instead, you used her as a tool of death. You never cared about me or the other innocent men and women within that level. All you cared about was that fucking door that you needed her to reveal.”

“Want to know how that story of my mother’s ended, you piece of shit?”

“The descendants of the executioner’s victims broke into their home, tearing everything apart as they searched for the one responsible for taking their loved ones from them. The wife begged for forgiveness as the mob ransacked their sanctuary, but received nothing of the kind.”

“Instead, she was beaten into a bloody pulp of a corpse for coercing her husband to continue with the killings in the first place.”

“Your story will end the same way, Mariachi. Those that were forgotten in the explosion at the Red Light District will get their vengeance through me with every strike, their fury in every blow.”

“I won’t listen to your cries for mercy. I won’t stop delivering justice to the one who helped her get away with murder just because you said please.”

“Your screams and pleas will be will disappear into the night.”

“So you may suffer in eternal darkness.”