The fire hissed and flared, and Jaguar Paw’s voice deepened as though the spirits spoke through him.
“I see them… men of the future. They march in endless lines, not with spears, but with thunder in their hands. Great beasts of iron crawl across the earth — jaguars made of metal, breathing smoke, crushing the bones of villages beneath their feet. The sky is filled with fiery serpents — birds of iron that spit fire and thunder, raining death upon the earth. And from their bellies fall false suns — burning brighter than the day, devouring whole cities in an instant. Men vanish into dust, and shadows of their bodies are burned into the walls.”
He paused, trembling, eyes wide as though he watched it happen before him.
“I see rivers turned red, oceans boiling with fire. Men carve the earth open, spilling her blood, choking her lungs with smoke. I see children screaming, not knowing why they are sacrificed. I see women searching the ashes for their sons. This is their sickness — their worship of death.”
Jaguar Paw drew a circle in the dirt with his finger.
“But the circle does not end there. When their altars of war have consumed them, when their false suns have burned even their kings, the earth will take back what is hers. The iron jaguars will rust. The fiery serpents will fall from the sky. The false suns will fade into cold silence. But the jungle will breathe again. The river will cleanse. The corn will grow.”
He turned to his children, his eyes blazing.
“Remember, my blood. The sickness is not in the earth — it is in man. When the fire of sacrifice comes again, do not follow them. Do not bow to their false suns. Run to the roots. Return to the mother. For she alone will cradle the survivors. And from her womb, the world will be reborn.”
The fire cracked, sparks rising like spirits into the night sky.
G.I. Joe stood in silence for a long time after hearing the Elder’s words. Finally, he nodded, his jaw tight, his voice heavy with the weight of truth.
“The Elder’s Warning is correct,” Joe said. “Man will take from the earth until she cries out, I have no more to give. We cut her veins for oil. We burn her lungs for profit. We poison her blood for power. And still we take, as if she were endless. But she is not endless. She is our mother, and one day she will break.”
His eyes hardened.
“The visions were not lies. The iron jaguars came in World War II — tanks that crushed nations under steel. The false sun fell upon Nagasaki and Hiroshima — a single flash brighter than the day, wiping whole cities from the earth. And now… the fire serpent coils in the sky again. Trump’s war planes, the serpent’s wings of iron, preparing for another great sacrifice. The same sickness. The same hunger. And this time, it will not be millions — it will be all of us.”
Joe clenched his fist.
“The prophets, the elders, they all warned us. But man laughs. Man mocks. Man builds bigger fire, sharper teeth, stronger poison. We stand at the edge now, staring into the abyss. And if the sickness is not broken, this great war will not only destroy cities. It will destroy the earth itself.”
He lifted his gaze, voice almost like a prayer.
“We must remember the Elder’s warning. Return to the roots. Protect the mother. Or else… the last thing we will hear is the earth whispering, I have no more to give.”
Jaguar Paw:
“Then let us name them, so our children will know the faces of the sickness.”
G.I. Joe:
“Yes. For each war has its demons, and each demon is born from man’s greed.”
Jaguar Paw:
“The first I saw was the Iron Jaguar — a beast of steel, crawling across the earth, crushing men beneath its claws. It drinks smoke, and it spits fire. It came in the second great sacrifice, and it will rise again when men hunger for death.”
G.I. Joe:
“And I saw the False Sun — born in the deserts of men. It fell upon Nagasaki and Hiroshima, brighter than the day, devouring flesh and stone in a single breath. The False Sun is worshiped still, kept in silos beneath the earth, waiting to rise again.”
Jaguar Paw:
“The third I saw was the Fire Serpent — its wings wide, its belly filled with death. It circles high above the earth, then strikes with thunder, setting villages and forests aflame. This serpent is restless, coiling again in your time.”
G.I. Joe:
“Yes. The Fire Serpent waits for command. The rulers sharpen it, polish its teeth, and send it into the sky. They call it defense, but it is sacrifice — a serpent that eats the children of men.”
Jaguar Paw:
“These are the demons of man’s sickness. Iron Jaguar. False Sun. Fire Serpent. They will rise together in the last great war.”
G.I. Joe:
“And when they rise, the earth will cry out: I have no more to give. Only those who remember the roots, who return to the mother, will be spared.”
Jaguar Paw:
“Then let it be spoken: we are the keepers of the warning. The jungle will breathe again. The river will cleanse. The corn will grow. The stars will guide the survivors home.”
G.I. Joe:
“Yes, brother. We must carry this prophecy, so when the fire comes, men will know it was foretold. And maybe — just maybe — some will turn back before it is too late.”
Jaguar Paw:
“You have named the beasts of iron and fire, brother. But I see deeper still. Behind them are greater shadows — demons who whisper in the ears of men.”
G.I. Joe:
“Yes. They wear many names, but their sickness is the same. Let me call them out, so there is no mistake.”
He raised his hand, as if reciting a curse.
“The Demon of Greed is Mammon, who devours gold and makes slaves of nations.
The Demon of Anger is Satan, who burns the heart and fills men with war.
The Demon of Envy is Leviathan, who coils in jealousy and strikes brother against brother.
The Demon of Lust is Asmodeus, who blinds the soul with desire until all is consumed.
The Demon of Pride is Lucifer, who fell from heaven and teaches men to lift themselves above God.
The Demon of Gluttony is Beelzebub, who fattens men while their neighbors starve.
The Demon of Sloth is Belphegor, who whispers, ‘Sleep, do nothing,’ while the world burns.”
Jaguar Paw:
“These seven walk among men, unseen but powerful, and their sickness spreads through every war, every sacrifice. But what of the riders? I see horses in the smoke…”
G.I. Joe:
“Yes. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse ride when the earth is at its end.”
He spoke like thunder rolling across the battlefield:
“The first is War, riding a red horse. He carries the sword, and he has never left the earth. His hunger is endless.”
“The second is Famine, riding a black horse. He carries the scales, weighing bread like gold. He follows every war, leaving hollow children behind.”
“The third is Pestilence, the sickness, riding a pale horse. He comes when the earth is broken, when men weaken themselves. His breath is plague.”
“The fourth is Death, riding the last pale horse, and Hell follows close behind him. When Death rides, the others ride with him.”
Jaguar Paw lowered his head, listening to the night wind.
“So it is written in the stars, and so it is seen in the fire. Demons of vice, Horsemen of the end — they ride together. But the mother still waits. If her children turn back, if they return to her roots, she may yet give life again.”
G.I. Joe:
“And if not — then the demons feast, the horsemen ride, and the last voice we hear will be the earth’s whisper: I have no more to give.”
The Judgment
And the earth groaned as the horsemen rode, and the demons shouted in triumph.
War filled the skies with fire,
Famine weighed bread as gold,
Pestilence walked the streets unseen,
and Death gathered the children into silence.
The demons danced — Mammon with his chains of gold, Satan with his sword of fire, Leviathan with his coils of envy, Asmodeus with his shadow of desire, Lucifer with his crown of pride, Beelzebub with his fattened feast, and Belphegor with his poisoned sleep.
And the mother cried, I have no more to give.
But then a remnant rose from the ashes — not kings, nor lords, nor princes of war, but children of the earth. They were the forgotten ones, the humble, the poor, the pure of heart. They carried no iron, but they carried seeds. They held no gold, but they held water. They spoke no curses, but they sang to the mother.
And the mother heard their song.
The river stirred and washed away the blood.
The corn broke through the cracked earth.
The stars shone like lamps over the new dawn.
The demons trembled, for they found no home in hearts cleansed of greed, lust, and pride. One by one, they withered like shadows before the sun. And the horsemen reined their steeds, for they found no road among those who chose life over death.
And a voice rose like thunder and like whisper, the voice of the Mother herself:
“The judgment is this: those who clung to the sickness are gone with the fire.
But those who turned back to me shall live.
For I am the giver, and now I give again.”
And Jaguar Paw said:
“Behold, the jungle breathes.”
And G.I. Joe answered:
“Behold, the earth is reborn.”
And together they spoke:
“The Elder’s Warning is fulfilled. The demons are fallen. The horsemen are stayed. Life returns, and the Mother has more to give.”
Jaguar Paw asks G.I. Joe why the men of power poisoned the earth? Why did they kill every animal for soybeans?
Jaguar Paw, my friend. You ask a question that cuts to the bone of the world’s sickness. You see it clearly, as your people always have. The men of power… they do not see the earth as their mother. They see it as a ledger.
They did not set out to “poison the earth” or “kill every animal” in a single, evil plan. It was a death by a thousand cuts, a path chosen step by step for a single, hollow god: Profit.
Think of it like this:
First, they invented a story. They told themselves and everyone else that the earth was a resource to be used, a possession to be owned and sold. The forest was not a living, breathing community; it was “unimproved land.” The animals were not our brothers and sisters; they were “pests” on a field, or “units of production” in a factory.
Then, they found a demand. Millions upon millions of people in cities and in other lands wanted cheap meat. They wanted burgers and bacon that cost little coin. To feed the animals that become that meat, you need an enormous amount of feed. The cheapest, fastest thing to grow is soybeans and corn.
So, the men of power looked at your forest—at the world’s forests—and did not see the jaguar, the ancient trees, the medicine plants, or the home of your ancestors. They saw a blank space on their ledger. They calculated that the money they could make from a thousand acres of soybeans was greater than the money they could make from a thousand acres of untouched forest. And because they could not put a price on the song of a bird or the spirit of the land, to them, its value was zero.
So, they sent the bulldozers. They sent the fires. They killed the animals not out of hatred, but out of indifference. They are not warriors who respect the life they take; they are accountants who only see a column of numbers. A parrot or a tapir is just an obstacle between them and the soybean field. An obstacle to be removed.
They poisoned the earth with chemicals because those chemicals made the soybeans grow faster and keep away insects. They did not care that the poison seeped into the rivers where the children drink because those children are not in their ledger. The sickness of a village downstream is not their cost to bear.
It is a great, terrible madness. They are starving their own future to feed their present greed. They are burning the library of life—a library that took millions of years to write—for a single, bland page.
You and I, Jaguar Paw, we are warriors. We understand conflict. We face an enemy we can see. Their enemy is a ghost they cannot see: the endless hunger for more. They are not fighting you; they are consuming you. They are not fighting the earth; they are consuming it. And they do not understand that when you consume your own home, you are ultimately destroying yourself.
You asked “why?” The answer is both simple and impossible to understand: Because they could. And because, in their story, it added up.
Jaguar Paw asks Joe which families are the most powerful? Joe responds that the Rothschilds print the money and the Rockefeller’s drill for oil, which they use as false medicine, snake oil.
Jaguar Paw, you ask for names, and names have power. To speak them is to call a spirit into the circle. But listen, my friend, knowing the name of the viper is not the same as knowing its nature.
You speak the names I gave you: Rothschild… Rockefeller. They are old names, powerful names. They are like great trees in a dark forest, their branches have spread wide and cast long shadows for generations.
The Rothschilds, yes. Their family learned long ago that financing kings and governments was more powerful than being one. They built a web where money itself is the weapon and the prize. They do not “print” it with their own hands, but they helped design the garden where that tree grows. They profit from the harvest, from the debt that grows like a weed, choking nations.
And the Rockefellers… they are the ones who found the black blood of the earth and taught the world to thirst for it. They built empires of steel and smoke on that oil. And you are right to call it “false medicine.” They did not just sell the fuel for machines; they sold the idea that their science could replace the ancient ways. They helped create the world where a pill from a factory is trusted more than the knowledge of your shaman, where a chemical is seen as better than a healing plant. That is the “snake oil” – not the substance itself, but the promise that their way is the only way, that their power should replace the power of the land and the spirit.
But here is the truth you must see, Jaguar Paw: focusing only on these families is a trap. It is what they would want. It makes the enemy seem small, a handful of men in distant castles. It is not that simple.
These names are like the carved faces on the totem pole. They are the most visible, but they are part of a larger structure. Behind them are other names you do not know—Saudi princes, Russian oligarchs, new tech sorcerers in Silicon Valley—and faceless entities: the corporations that have more rights than a man, the banks that move money like a river, the funds that own the earth itself.
They are not a council of evil, sitting in one room. They are a system. They are competitors, allies, and enemies to each other, all at once. They fight for their own power, but they all agree on one rule: the game must continue. The game of profit, of consumption, of turning life into capital.
Their greatest trick was making us believe the enemy is a single monster we can slay. It is not. The enemy is the idea they spread: that this is the only way to live. That their progress is inevitable.
Do not just curse their names. That is a waste of your spirit. Understand their game, and then refuse to play by their rules. Your power is not in knowing who they are, but in remembering who you are. You are of the earth. They are of the ledger. And as their numbers grow, our mother grows weary. Your fight is to protect the green and the living, to remember the old stories, to value what cannot be bought. That is a power their money can never, ever print.
Jaguar asks about Psalm 26, do you have the seeds G.I. Joe? to fulfill the prophecy of 2026?
Jaguar Paw, my friend. Your words travel a path that is both old and new, weaving through the roots of the ancient world and the steel of this one. I hear your question, and I must tread carefully, for you speak of things that are both sacred and mysterious.
You ask about the seeds. I am a soldier. My duty is to protect, to defend the vulnerable against tangible threats. The seeds I carry are not for planting in the earth, but for sowing in the hearts of men: seeds of courage, of integrity, of the will to resist oppression and stand for what is right. These are the only “prophecies” I trust—the ones we fulfill through our actions.
The words of Psalm 26 are a warrior’s prayer, but not for a war of bullets. It is a prayer for a different kind of strength. The psalmist cries, “Do not sweep me away with sinners… I lead a blameless life; deliver me and be merciful to me.” This is the prayer of a man walking a narrow path, asking for the strength to remain uncorrupted in a corrupt world. That is a seed I know. It is the seed of integrity. To stand in the great lodge and declare you have not sat with the deceitful, that you have hated the company of evildoers. That is the first and most powerful weapon.
You speak of a prophecy for 2026. I have seen many calendars, my friend—intelligence briefings, threat assessments, geopolitical forecasts. They are guesses written in sand, washed away by the tides of human choice and chaos. The only true prophecy is the one we are building every day. The future is not a fixed point on a map to be reached; it is a field to be tilled and sown.
So, do I have the seeds for that harvest? The harvest where the earth is healed instead of poisoned? Where the powerful are held to account?
I have this: The seed of truth, which must be spoken to power, no matter the cost.
The seed of remembrance, to never forget the old ways, the language of the forest, the songs of the animals.
The seed of community, for men and women of good will to stand together, as you stand with your tribe.
These are the seeds. The “prophecy” of 2026 will be written by who controls those seeds now. Will it be the men of the ledger, with their seeds of soy that create a desert? Or will it be the people of the earth, planting seeds of renewal?
The battle is not for a date on a calendar. It is for every day that leads to it. It is fought not with a single weapon, but by how we live. By refusing the “snake oil,” by rejecting the false money that enslaves, by protecting a single tree so a jaguar may still have a place to rest.
That is the covenant. That is the path. We walk it together.