Chapter 2.
Holding the child, Marcos walked through the dark cold woods to the small dark house that stood in its wake. He walked in, holding Diablo close to his chest. He sniffed the air, the putrid yet sweet making his eyes water. He started at his son, remembering Onna. He knew she would have just gotten in his way. She had only been with him because his family had a long line of fighters and hers the same. She may have been with him out of love, but he was with her just so she could birth a warrior. And here he was. He walked into the kitchen, and lied the baby on the table. He picked up a knife and his eyes rolled back to the head, remembering the sign his father had told him. The sign of Diablo. He carefully put it to the baby's arm, cutting into it shallowly and etching in the sign. Diablo had woken up, but he didn't cry. He watched Marcos cut in the sign, but felt no pain. Marcos finished moments later, setting the bloodied knife aside. He walked over, reached into the fridge, and pulled out a bottle. He picked up the baby gently, with the bottle in his hand, a black substance sloshing inside. Diablo immediately opened his mouth and started to suck, eyes shutting after a few seconds. Within minutes, he was fast asleep again. Marcos set the bottle down, put Diablo up against his chest, and left the house. Walking through the dark woods, the sky was illuminated by the dark moon. As Marcos walked, Diablo suddenly woke up and screamed. Marcos smiled, looking down at his son. His eyes were open and the irises glowing red, his small stomach heaving, and he cried in pain. The sign on Diablo's arm was ablaze. He coughed up some of the black liquid he drank and Marcos knew he had done it. The liquid that Diablo had drank, was the machine that would end up killing everyone and this war.