Welcome to Versus, where the spirit of lucha libre collides with music, art, and myth. Inspired by a long-lost notebook filled with cryptic match notes and fevered sketches, this project brings the legend to life through sound and vision. The bold and striking visual art by Holy Noly! captures the heart-pounding drama and masked mystery of the ring, inviting you to step into the arena. We recommend listening along via the Bandcamp link as you explore the art and uncover the hidden stories within. The music, like the legend itself, can also be found across all major streaming platforms.

Part 18: Adiós, Amigos

And so, @eddy8eagles closes the notebook, unsure if telling the story has solved anything or just made things worse. Maybe the haunting will end. Maybe it won’t.

The art of Holy Noly! hangs on his wall, staring at him with knowing eyes.

Eddy sighs. “I hope that ghost is finally satisfied.”

He switches off the light. Somewhere, in the dark, a melody lingers.

Part 17: En Medias Sin Res

The legends towered above them—giants in the ring, their masks worn like ancient crowns, their presence suffocating. These were the heroes of Ded and Sancho’s youth, the ones whose faces once adorned crumbling posters on cantina walls, whose names echoed in bedtime stories whispered over flickering candles. Now, they stood in opposition, titans of muscle and myth, ready to crush any who dared stand before them.

The bell tolled, and the battle began.

The first to fall was the cowboy king, his golden voice silenced as Ded’s desperate strike sent him tumbling. Next, the silver saint hit the ground, his once-mighty roar replaced by stunned silence. Each victory came not through skill, but through a strange mix of luck, improvisation, and sheer survival instinct.

Sancho ducked, barely dodging a wild swing. "Jefe... these were our heroes."

Ded, panting, steadied himself. "They still are, Sancho. That’s the problem."

A clown with a tattered hat laughed as he danced away from their blows, but the laughter faltered when Sancho, in an uncharacteristic moment of grace, swept him off his feet. 

Fly now blue. Bye bye blue one. The legend in blue fell, his silence more deafening than the cheers. The crowd gasped, the battle raged on.

One by one, the titans crumbled. Dot time. Mark days. Dot steps. Mark the maze. The final moments blurred into a fever dream—love lost, long gone. Ring the bell when I’m gone, long gone.

Sancho gasped, looking around at the bodies strewn across the ring. "Jefe... did we actually win?"

Ded leaned against the ropes, exhausted but triumphant. "Sancho... it doesn’t matter. We’re still standing. That’s enough."

Part 16: Guide My Bones

The battle was no longer physical but spiritual. Each strike revealed an old regret, each dodge a whispered fear. The ghosts of their past selves loomed large, pressing them to surrender.

But Ded held fast, muttering under his breath, “Guide my bones.”

Sancho, struggling against his own shadow, called out, “Jefe... we’re running out of bones to guide!”

Part 15: Faust Things First

From the shadows, a figure emerged—draped in whispers and secrets, his grin carved from the unknown. "Señores," he said, his voice smooth as polished stone, "you've done well, but the hardest battles are always those against oneself."

Sancho squinted. “Jefe, I don’t like where this is going.”

Ded sighed. “Neither do I.”

The figure traced a slow circle around them, his eyes glinting with something just beyond comprehension. "But perhaps, a deal can be made. Victory... at a cost."

Sancho swallowed hard. “Jefe, deals never go well for us.”

Ded hesitated, staring into the darkness. “They never do.”

The figure extended his hand, offering something neither of them could quite see—something that flickered and twisted, as if alive. "You want to win, don’t you? You want to be remembered? This could be your chance."

Ded reached out, pausing just inches away. Sancho tugged at his sleeve. "Jefe... we’re already ghosts. What more could he take?"

Part 14: VERSUS

Ded and Sancho found themselves back in the ring, but this time, the stakes were clearer. The crowd was louder, the lights harsher, and their opponents fiercer. The ghosts of old champions stood in their way, their masks frozen in expressions of eternal challenge.

Sancho rolled his shoulders. “Jefe... we really shouldn’t be here.”

Ded adjusted his helmet. “Sancho, we were never supposed to be anywhere.”

The bell rang.

The Mask of Destiny

Part 13: Doubt and Dust

[[By this point, @eddy8eagles was beginning to suspect the entire notebook might be backwards—or worse, inside out. The way the events unfolded didn’t quite fit together, but magic has a way of ignoring the rules of logic. Eddy hoped that sharing it this way wouldn’t break whatever spell might still be lurking in the pages.

Somewhere, D_Q might be laughing.]]

Part 12: Vertigo (Part 2)

The temple spoke in poetry, in riddles carved into bone and stone. The air crackled with ancient power, and Ded could hear the whispers all around them.

“Un brazo lleno de sol, un ojo podrido en jade...” The temple demanded tribute, demanded sacrifice.

Sancho’s voice was distant, desperate. “Jefe... I think it wants more than we can give.”

Ded, staring into the abyss of the temple’s demands, nodded. “Then let’s give it something it didn’t ask for.”

A step forward. A challenge issued. And the temple, for the first time in centuries, hesitated.

Part 11: Vertigo (Part 1)

At the summit of the temple, the air grew heavy. Ded and Sancho stood face-to-face with two figures—revolutionary generals, draped in tattered banners and armed with the weight of history.

The fight began, a brutal clash of fists and ideals. Ded could feel the pressure, the weight of every failed rebellion, every fallen leader.

“Ten templo,” the walls whispered, urging them higher, deeper.

Sancho, dodging a swing, muttered, “Jefe... I don’t think this is just a fight anymore.”

Ded, panting, replied, “No, Sancho. This is something bigger.”

Part 10: Templo

The jungle gave way to stone as Ded and Sancho reached the temple. Massive, ancient, and unsettlingly alive, the structure loomed over them. Each step felt like an intrusion, each carving in the stone watching their every move.

A voice, low and distant, echoed from the walls.

“Caifán caifán, de vieja California, viene a rezar.”

Sancho was puzzled. “Jefe... I think the temple knows we’re here.”

Ded, staring at the inscriptions, whispered back, “Then let’s not keep it waiting.”

Part 9: A CDMX mission

[[This is the part where @eddy8eagles admits things got complicated. Some pages in the notebook were indecipherable, full of symbols and glyphs that looked more like the ramblings of a madman than any coherent story. Desperate for answers, Eddy flew to Mexico City and met with Rojo Cordova in a dimly lit tea shop off a wide avenue.

Rojo, a man who seemed to know too much about too many things, flipped through the pages, nodding. “I’ve seen texts like this before,” he said. “They aren’t just stories. They’re spells.”

With Rojo’s help, Eddy pieced together what he could, but even now, he’s not entirely sure he got it right.]]

Part 8: Sueños Vivos

A chant echoed through the market. The crowd shifted, parting to reveal a gathering at the base of a towering bone-carved monument. Hooded figures stood in a circle, their voices rising and falling in rhythm.

“Turn it upside down, turn it upside down.”

Ded watched as the figures gestured toward the towering structure, their hands tracing invisible lines of power. The air grew thick with tension, and Sancho tugged at his sleeve. “Jefe... I don’t like the look of this.”

Ded grinned. “Sancho, when have we ever liked the look of anything?”

The Labyrinth of Bones and Dreams

Part 7: Mondo Mundo

In the depths of the emerald jungle, Ded and Sancho arrived at a town unlike any they had seen before. Here, bones were more than relics; they were currency, tools, and instruments. Ribcages stretched into marimbas, femurs into flutes, and skulls hollowed into haunting resonators. The market pulsed with the rhythm of the dead, and the merchants were eager to sell pieces of forgotten lives.

Sancho eyed a vendor polishing a pristine skull. “Jefe... I don’t think we should stay long.”

Ded, entranced by the eerie music drifting from the stalls, murmured, “Sancho, we’re already staying too long.”

Part 6: The End of the Beginning

The dust settles, but the fight lingers. Fulano has vanished into the crowd, and Koyo stands at the edge of the ring, his smile fractured.

Ded wipes the imagined sweat from his brow, looking at Sancho. “We did it?”

Sancho shrugs. “For now.”

There’s something unfinished in the air, an uneasy silence that creeps into the cracks of their victory. Ded looks back at the crowd, at the banners, and at the cathedral’s looming shadow.

[[Eddy wonders to himself. “Maybe this was backward all along,” he mutters. “But this next part... I know for sure it goes in the middle.”]]

And so, with weary steps, they move toward the next chapter.

Part 5: Say Dulcinea

Battered but standing, Ded hears it—a melody, faint but persistent. It hums through the crowd, swirling around him like an old promise. He sings, his voice ragged but defiant, “In this dark hour, I will call your name... my lady, Death...”

Sancho joins in, their voices growing stronger, carried by the air and echoed by the crowd. The music lifts them, pushes them forward.

Ded locks eyes with Koyo. “You can take the town, the ring, the silver... but you’ll never take her from me.”

With the strength of their song, they push forward. The battle isn't over, but their purpose is clear.

Part 4: Revenge!

The moment the bell rang, Koyo and Fulano descended upon Ded and Sancho with an unrelenting force. The ring shook with their blows, each one a brutal reminder that the fight was not theirs to win easily.

Ded hit the mat, gasping for breath, eyes clouded with exhaustion and doubt. Koyo towered over him, triumphant. “You can’t stop progress,” he sneered. “This place, this ring—it belongs to me now.”

Sancho, battered but standing, reached out. “Jefe... we’re not done.”

From somewhere deep, a beat emerged—a rhythm older than memory. It pulsed through the town, through the crowd, through Ded’s weary bones.

Ded took Sancho’s hand, rising. “No,” he muttered. “Not today.”

Part 3: The Coliboogie

The crowd parted as Ded and Sancho approached the ring in the square, an ancient structure dressed in bright banners. Overhead, the looming face of Koyo Colibri stared down at them, his smile painted in bold strokes.

Then came the voice—smooth, certain, undeniable. “What you seize is what you get.”

From the cathedral steps, Koyo Colibri emerged, his robes flowing like liquid wealth. [[Or was it flannel?]] His words, dripping with confidence, rang through the plaza.

“And the river may flood with the red red blood...” he sang, his voice filling the space, weaving itself into the bones of the town. “…but I’ll never forget.”

Sancho tugged at Ded’s sleeve. “He’s already won in his mind.”

Ded’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Then let’s make him work for it.”

Part 2: Gold and Jade

The pueblo welcomed Ded Quixote and Sancho Danza with a procession of flowers and music. Golden marigolds rained from balconies, their scent thick in the evening air, mingling with the metallic tang of the mines. The streets were filled with masked figures in jade and gold, their faces painted in intricate patterns resembling ancient glyphs.

Ded took it all in, striding through the streets with a mixture of pride and suspicion. “Sancho,” he murmured, “this feels too much like a welcome for someone else.”

Sancho, brushing marigold petals from his shoulders, sighed. “Jefe, people love a good story. Even a bad one.”

The path led them toward the heart of the town, the grand plaza, where the towering cathedral loomed, its bells tolling in slow, deliberate cadence. Fulano stood at the steps, a smile sharp as a blade.

Sancho muttered under his breath. “I don’t trust him.”

Ded adjusted his mask. “Trust is for men with something to lose.”

The Mictlán Screwjob

Part 1: Dust and Doubt

In a certain town, in a certain time, a notebook was discovered by @eddy8eagles and his collaborator, Adam (@razorsunshine), in the basement of Eddy’s new home. Hidden behind a slab of cement in the back of a cupboard, its pages were torn, reordered, and in some places, written in an unfamiliar language. Scattered throughout were margin notes, scribbled arrows, and strange markings that appeared to indicate which parts should be turned into lyrics. Eddy and Adam, as they had with Valentine, worked together to make sense of it.

After the events surrounding Valentine, Eddy received one final message from D_Q. It contained nothing but a hyperlink—leading to the works of @holynolyart. A closer look revealed something uncanny: art that seemed to reflect pieces of the notebook. Eddy and Adam suspected that D_Q had reached out to this artist too. Now, they present the story and the art together, hoping that sharing it might put an end to this haunting.

Eddy spent years traveling through Mexico, piecing together the fragments. The sections that were decipherable have been arranged in what they believe to be the correct order. However, there is reason to believe the true order may be backward, or perhaps something else entirely. The pages that remained indecipherable were translated with the help of @rojo_cordova_poeta, a magician Eddy met in a dim teashop in Mexico City.

This, then, is the story as best as it could be reconstructed.

 

VERSUS

Five years since Valentine, the ghosts have only grown louder. Ded Quixote and Sancho Panza find themselves in a place where time twists, riffs strike like echoes of forgotten battles, and the weight of their choices hums beneath every chord.

They move through these songs like fighters in the ring, their rhythms clashing, their melodies chasing something just out of reach. Can they hear the voices hidden in the distortion, or are they just playing for the dead?

Somewhere deep in Mictlán, under flickering lights and crumbling stone, the music still plays. VERSUS is the sound of searching—pushed forward by the relentless pulse of drums, the howl of guitars, and the quiet truth hiding in the spaces between.

DISCLAIMER - These are not political anthems.

Bandcamp purchases of "VERSUS" include exclusive songbook art by Holy Noly!

credits

released June 21, 2025
Produced by the Virtuist at SS Mictlán, SJV, California.
Music and cover art by Radio La Mancha.
All rights reserved. Unauthorized duplication is a violation of applicable laws.

VERSUS is brought to you by...

Eddy Eagles – Guitars, Vocals
Adam De Leon – Drums, Vocals

Also featuring:

Jonal Clauff – Bass on Faust Things First
Kyle Todd – Lead guitars on Sueños Vivos
Rojo Córdova – Slam poetry on Templo y Vertigo
Fernando Montoya – Bass on Say Dulcinea

Songbook Art by Holy Noly!

All rights reserved. Unauthorized duplication is a violation of applicable laws.

license

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