This flash piece involves Phoebus, an Aresian, and their practices with daimons. It's pre-Fighting Gravity.
An Aresian Ritual
Phoebus’s
heart raced as he reclined on the metallic table. The light above his head
flickered before solidifying into a white glow. His gaze fell toward the
darkened windows hovering to his left. Would his mother be there watching him?
She said she’d come.
He swallowed
hard and wiped his sweaty palms upon his white trousers. Footsteps clomped
closer, and he sucked in a shallow breath.
“Are you
ready?” The Aresian male’s gloves popped against his flesh when he put them on.
“Do I have a
choice?” Phoebus placed his hands against the table. Metal clanked above them,
his ankles, his waist, and his neck.
“It’s not
that bad, but we must take precautions.” The Aresian checked the restraints.
His head bobbed toward the unseen spectators behind the glass.
The metal
felt cold against his flesh. The Aresian pressed a gloved hand above Phoebus’s
chest. Would he hear the rapid pounding of his heart? The frightened breaths?
His father
had died from this procedure.
Would he be
next?
Phoebus’s pulse
brushed against the neck restraint as two Aresian females entered the room.
Pinpricks flowed over his arms. He squeezed his eyelids shut as his fingertips
went numb. “Please, don’t do this.”
“Remain
still. You’ll feel a pinch.”
Phoebus
opened his eyes as the needle jammed into his chest over his heart. His scream
echoed in the small room. His chest felt like it was on fire. His body arched
against the metal restraints, but didn’t budge them. The burn singed through
his body until he thought he would pass out.
Then the male
extracted the needle. “Give it a minute.”
Phoebus could
barely hear the words. His voice rasped from his parched throat. The flames
slowed and stopped lapping his flesh from the inside out. He gasped for air as
the three other Aresians in the room backed away from him.
“What? What
is it?” Fear spiked, and he was certain his heart would give out.
“The mark,”
the male said and pointed at it.
The
restraints disappeared into the table, and Phoebus bolted upright into a
sitting position. He stared at the symbol upon his chest, and his being wanted
to sink into the table, if he could. A serpent swirled around the dagger over
his heart. The executioner daimon. His worst fears were realized.
“No, it can’t
be.”
“Congratulations,
Phoebus.” The male grinned at him, his red eyes blaring with the thrill of
seeing this particular mark.
“It can’t
be,” he repeated.
Hello, Phoebus, the daimon said into his mind. We’ll get to know each other very well. Are
you ready?
“Noooo!”
