Encanto one shot(?): La violencia

The village of Encanto, usually vibrant and alive, sat eerily quiet. Tension thickened the air, palpable enough to feel like a choking smog. Bruno Madrigal stood at the outskirts, his heart pounding in his chest, eyes wide with fear and determination. He knew what was coming—an army bent on razing Encanto to the ground, driven by greed and hunger for the mystical power that lay within its borders. The Miracles, bestowed by the enchanted candle, were coveted by those who saw only wealth and power, not the deep roots of family and love that sustained it.

Bruno's visions had shown him glimpses of this grim future, but he had kept the worst of them to himself. He saw death, suffering, and despair. His family, once his shelter and solace, torn apart. He couldn't let it happen. Not again. Not after his father had given his life to create the initial miracle that saved them. Bruno Madrigal had to fight fate, believe that he could do so.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the valley, the air grew colder, the stillness before the storm. Bruno stood alone, a solitary figure cloaked in emerald green, his frail frame dwarfed by the impending darkness. He could hear the distant rumble of the approaching army, the clang of metal and the thudding of boots a harbinger of doom.

His family was behind him, the walls of their home unable to keep out the dread that seeped into their hearts. Mirabel, with her fierce determination, had tried to rally everyone, to find a way to protect their home. But Bruno knew it was futile. He had seen every possible outcome, every twist and turn of fate. The only way to save Encanto was through a sacrifice—his sacrifice.

“Bruno, you can't do this!” Mirabel cried, her voice breaking with desperation. She reached out, but an invisible barrier shimmered to life, preventing her from touching him. The magic, ancient and powerful, was already at work, sealing his fate and protecting her from the brutal truth.

“Please, brother,” Julieta whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. “There has to be another way.”

Bruno turned to face them, his heart aching at the sight of their grief. His eyes lingered on his mother, Alma, who stood silent and stoic, her face a mask of resolve hiding the storm within. She had already lost her husband to this cursed duty. Now, she was about to lose her son.

“I wish there was,” Bruno said softly, his voice barely audible over the rising wind. “But this is the only way to save you all.”

Bruno had lied to them. He had promised that he would fight together with them to ensure the future he saw would never come true.

Bruno had lied to them. After all, he was a coward, because he was scared that in knowing the truth, he would have been stopped by them.

Bruno had already lied to them, all those years of disappearance. He could do so again for their sake.

His words hung heavy in the air, the finality of his decision sinking in. The army was closer now, their forms becoming visible in the twilight. Bruno closed his eyes, drawing upon the wellspring of his gift. Visions flooded his mind, a dizzying array of possibilities, each one a thread in the tapestry of time. He grasped the threads, weaving them together with an intricate precision that defied comprehension.

The miracle coming back had been both a blessing and curse for him. Using his gift had always hurt him and this is why more than finally shedding the cloak of the brujo, the cloak of the cursed oracle, the disappearance of his gift had been a source of well-deserved sleep in his opinion.

The miracle coming back made everything harder again although it gave him something he had been completely lacking or maybe he always had and finally realized the existence of, perspective and perspective in the hand of a prophet was everything.

He could feel the strain on his mind and body, the immense pressure of manipulating the flow of time. Each vision both sapped his strength and strengthened him, but he pushed forward, knowing that he had to succeed. His family depended on him. He could still hear their voices, their screams on the other side of the barrier.

They all knew what was happening. This was a funeral. This was a burial, Bruno’s burial made for all to see.

The first wave of soldiers broke through the treeline, their armour glinting menacingly. Bruno's eyes snapped open. He could see everything with near-perfect accuracy.

He could see the twitch of their muscles, the throbbing veins of their steed. He could see the bloodthirsty expression on their faces, faces of men who only see future plunder and intentionally committed atrocities. He could see the reflection of their guns and machetes shining ominously under the light, some of the weapons still tainted with fresh blood.

He moved with a speed that defied logic, his body a blur, his body moving with assurance and power that Bruno Madrigal had never shown before.

His mother had tried to ensure since their infancy that the powers they received from the miracle were seen as gifts and nothing else, that those powers were not seen as monstrous or worse divine and she had been right to do so because their gifts? They made them something else, something other.

How could someone capable of healing any ailment be considered human? How could someone capable of bending nature according to their emotion be considered mortal? How could someone wielding a fragment of omniscience, an authority of the divine be normal?

This was the greatest accomplishment of his mother, the greatest trick in his opinion ever played. Masquerading the exceptional as average.

Maybe this was why forgiving her after everything had been so easy. His mother had wanted them, had wanted him to be an example, a part of Encanto and not something other because monsters and gods, they either were slayed by humans or worse, worshipped by them.

Bruno anticipated each attack. He could see everything the soldiers would, could do before they did, shimmers of Aztec light only for him to see showing him the could be and the will be. The soldiers, expecting an easy victory, were met with a force they couldn't comprehend.

Bruno became a whirlwind of motion, his every step and strike preordained by his visions.

The sword of one of the men was stolen from his grip, too quick for him to understand, for him to do anything but die as in an arc, the blade came back biting and cutting through half his right hips.

He dodged one bullet and countered with a grace that seemed almost supernatural, the machete swinging at the right angle to change the trajectory of the bullets shot at him toward the unprotected neck of some of the invaders, his movements a perfect blend of foresight and instinct.

Bruno stopped to take a breath, his gaze crossing with the ones of the invader. He was just one frail-looking man in their midst yet They looked at him with horror, yet they looked scared.

“What kind of demon are you?” one of them asked, holding with a shaking hand a crucifix.

“An unforgiving one,” Bruno answered him simply.

“Interesting,” a suave voice spoke. Bruno tilted his head in the direction from where it came.

The owner of the voice was on a horse, dressed in clothes clearly more expensive than the rest of the invaders.

He looked like any old man you would expect to see in a Columbia city, the kind who seemed to have seen everything and from his experiences only learned to share and give kindness.

Bruno would have maybe felt at ease in the presence of the old man if his gift hadn’t already shown him who he was.

“So it is true then, what they said about a town of brujos and Brujas. I guess even an old man can still be surprised. Tell me, young man, do you wonder why we are here?”

“Does it matter? You only came here to bring ruin.”

There were no points to answer the man before him, a man whose hands were so much bathed with blood that the sight of him was sickening.

“This is the problem with the youth. You don’t respect the way things need to be done.”

The old man sighed as if he was dealing with an unruly child.

“I guess I'll have to do things by myself. My name is Juan and I am but a humble member of the conservative party. Normally, we wouldn’t have come here you know. After all, each instant here is one where liberals are able to continue to poison our great Columbia.”

The gaze of the old man changed, turning into one worthy of a warlord “At least, this was until we learn of a town supporting the liberals, of a town fighting to ensure the realization of the international Judeo-Masonic conspiracy. I never was the kind of man to believe such things. Life has shown me that god and the devil chose to stop intervening in this world, to make miracles die. You proved to me that for once, those influenceable idiots may be right.”

“Is there a point to any of your words?”

Bruno of course knew. This place, this moment was his scene and him the only aware actor. He wouldn’t say it though no matter how much he wished for the old man to shut up. All pieces needed to be in a good place for his plan to succeed.

“The point is that your existence put me in a conundrum. I was supposed if the information were true to put the others and you to the sword, to clean Columbia from your taint but like you already showed, it would only result in the loss of the lives of too many of my men, something I treasure but we both know that in the end, you would lose. Even in the case you succeed, my friends, my brothers in arms, my enemies, they’ll be coming here with greater numbers and succeed where I failed.”

“Even miracles,” Juan spoke ominously “can be extinguished under the steel of thousands unless you join me. Think about it. You will serve a just cause, ensure your hidden home is protected by the glorious conservative party. You could help in making Columbia the paradise it is worthy to be. Just accept.”

The words of the man sounded good, logical it could even be said. Conservative, liberals, they would all be dangerous due to Encanto’s particularities.

Bruno would have accepted if his gift didn't already show him how the man before him would use, exploit his family members to do terrible things and after doing so, get rid of them. More than that, Bruno Madrigal didn't think himself hypocritical enough to smile in the face of the man who would be the cause of his end.

“Fifty years ago,” Bruno spoke softly “a man made a choice here at the edge of what would become Encanto. He made a sacrifice knowing he would pay the ultimate price just for a chance that his loved ones would survive.”

Bruno tried to ignore the screams and the shouts of his family members, of the townspeople, how they asked him, no begged him to come back.

Things could change so soon. Months ago, he still had been bad luck Bruno, the ones who should never be spoken of. He could only thank Mirabel.

The conditions for the ritual he was intending were being slowly but surely reunited. There was power in repetition. There was power in sacrifice. His visions had ensured he knew it.

Juan, the man, he wasn’t completely wrong. Even if Bruno killed all of them, it wouldn’t save Encanto. It would just attract more and more enemies.

It would have been different though if his family, if the town of Encanto had time to prepare. He believed this without a doubt.

This is why Bruno Madrigal would shatter time, would shatter fate itself. His barrier wasn’t only to stop his family from stopping him. It was also to allow everyone present in it to cross time.

The idea In itself was one born of despair and of the study of arcane rituals and texts of the past through his vision. The miracle returning had allowed him to see more than the future and he couldn’t deny that he had abused it.

There was only one hick to his plan. Encanto even if a little town had a population near a thousand.

To do such a phenomenal act of magic on thousands, his life wouldn’t be enough on the balance. This was one of the rules of magic. To receive something, you had to give something.

Fortunately, sacrifices didn't have to be willing, the Aztecs had shown him this. The grip he had on the blade tightened.

“I prefer to die honourably like this man than live and become a tidbit the monster that you are.”

Rage seemed to overcome the features of the man before his face shifted back to the grand-fatherly expression he originally had. He retreated by taking a step backwards into his troops.

“Kill them all,” was all Bruno heard him say before he disappeared from his sight and they attacked.

*scene*

The ground was soon littered with fallen soldiers, their weapons clattering to the earth as they succumbed to his onslaught. The victory would have been theirs if they weren’t fighting against a Madrigal.

Unfortunately, the immense cost of moving the way he did was something he could agonizingly feel. Each exertion drained him, the strain on his mind and body immense. He could feel his life force ebbing away, slipping through his fingers like sand. Blood stained his clothes, a deep crimson that marked his sacrifices. The magic demanded a price, and it was one he was willing to pay.

His family watched in horror, powerless to intervene. They saw his agony, his desperate resolve. Pepa's storms raged in sync with her turmoil, thunder cracking across the sky. Julieta knelt, her hands clasped in prayer, tears streaming down her face. They knew the price, felt it in their souls, but the barrier held firm.

“Bruno, please!” Alma cried, her voice breaking. “Stop this madness! There must be another way!”

But Bruno couldn't stop. He had to protect them. He had to save Encanto. His body moved on autopilot, guided by the visions that swirled in his mind. He dodged a sword thrust, countering with a strike that literally disarmed his opponent. Another soldier lunged at him, but he was already moving, predicting the attack and evading it with ease.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his strength waning with each passing moment. The soldiers kept coming, an unending tide of steel and fury. Bruno fought on, his willpower the only thing keeping him upright. He could feel his body breaking down, the toll of the battle and the magic too much to bear.

The visions grew more chaotic, the threads of time fraying at the edges. He could see the end approaching, a dark shadow that loomed ever closer. His death was inevitable, but he had to hold on just a little longer. Just long enough to complete the spell.

The soldiers pressed in, their numbers overwhelming. Bruno's movements became sluggish, his reactions slower. He could feel the sting of blades, the impact of blows. Blood flowed freely from his wounds, soaking the ground beneath him. His vision blurred, but he could still see the faces of his family, their expressions a mixture of fear and sorrow.

With a last cry of exertion, his blade cut through the last soldier. The Madrigal panted in exhaustion, his body wanting nothing but to shut down.

The air smelled of iron and corpses and all the disgusting smells that naturally came with death.

The ground was hidden, littered with corpses, almost forming a mountain, a pile under him. The blood of the soldiers had run freely, turning the stream surrounding Encanto entirely red.

Bruno had almost succeeded. There remained only two last things for the accomplishment of the ritual, the two things that will be the hardest.

“Confieso ante Dios Todopoderoso, reconozco ante mis hermanos, que he pecado en pensamiento, en palabra, en acción y en omisión; Sí, realmente pequé. Por tanto, ruego a la Virgen María, a los ángeles y a todos los Santos, y también a vosotros, hermanos míos, que oréis por mí al Señor nuestro Dios,” he whispered under his breath before what he knew would come came.

A knife pierced through his chest and reached his heart before puncturing it. ‘Was this how Jesus had felt he wondered? Knowing your pain yet choosing to do nothing to change it for the sake of others.’

“I told you that you would lose,” the old man taunted his voice full of jubilee and joy.

Had it not been the case, he would have realized that something was wrong, that the usual panic and fear in the eyes of those he once butchered wasn’t there.

Bruno acted, his hands closing behind the head of the old warlord to ensure he wouldn’t be able to escape.

He watched with a bloody smile the eyes of the old man widen in shock and fear before he whispered the necessary words

“Xiuhtecuhtli”

The man in his grip screamed as his time began to be eaten, his body going from an old man to a man, to a teenager, to a baby to nothing.

The magic reached its crescendo, a pulsating energy that surged through him. With a final, shuddering breath, he unleashed his power, sending a wave of energy through the barrier and into the minds of his family and the villagers, the blood, the sacrifices powering him enough to do a god-like act.

He could feel them being flung backwards in time, their memories intact, their present bodies turning into ashes. The barrier dissolved, and he collapsed, disoriented and overwhelmed. Bruno’s vision dimmed, the world fading around him. He fell to his knees, surrounded by the bodies of those he had fought.

He knew they were all gone yet it felt as if they were still there, as if he was looking at them, It was the probably the hallucinations of a dying mind he thought as his vision began to dim, but a serene smile touched his lips. He had saved them, given them a chance to rebuild, to live. “I love you,” he murmured to the nothing, his voice a mere breath. “Always remember that.”

His eyes closed, his body going limp. The light in him flickered and died, leaving a void that would never be filled.