Ritual

Ritual: A writing piece written for a prompt word of "Ritual" from a battle, focused on the ritual that created the first vampire.

### Link

https://docs.google.com/document/d/13KJMSLvaFBH0jBvKdfjOy\_v14CcERpzk7jZChTcVKTU/edit?usp=sharing

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### Work Text

Ichor stood in front of the cave, pausing for a moment before walking further in. They had found this cave some time ago, and now they were ready- at least, as ready as they could be. The springs here drew water and steam from the bottom of the Rift- so there should be enough magical energy to make this work. There had to be.

Ichor had a plan. (Their name wasn’t Ichor,  not yet, but that is how history remembers them and so that is how we will name them.) At the moment, they were simply a mortal, fragile and young. Prometheus had taken a liking to them, one might say- Ichor and Prometheus called it love. But Ichor saw the shadow that crossed their love’s face when they were injured or showed a sign of age- they were young now, but they could see that the disparity between them hurt. Prometheus knew he would outlive them by necessity, and it hurt, to know he would be alone again one day. Ichor couldn’t watch that and do nothing, not when they had an idea.

They dragged the last antelope into the cave, laying it alongside the others with its neck over one of the channels into the little pool they had made. Flesh was weak, complicated, but blood was strong. With this, Ichor would put their faith in the blood to keep them whole when their flesh would fail. This was their plan. They had left a letter for Prometheus, for the rest of them, in case they failed- but it was just a formality, really. They wouldn’t let this fail, they couldn’t. So they went ahead with the ritual they devised, taking the knapped obsidian knife they had made with their own hands and lifting it to the cardinal directions, then to the six points of the Ancients, up for Oil, and down for Void. They felt the air begin to buzz with power- or was it just their nerves? No matter. The spring loosed a puff of steam right on cue, and the cave became misty, droplets refracting the light of the candles they had brought in. Starting from the left, they went to each of the animals in turn and slashed their throats, chanting words of power  quietly as they watched the lifeblood flow into the channels they had chipped and into the spring. The smell was at once awful and incredible, steam from the depths mingling with blood and flesh. They kept on until all five of them were bleeding out into the spring, their blood mingling in a multicolored swirl in the shallow depression they had made for it. Five animals, six positions. They had left the center for Red. This was the place where it could all go wrong- but it wouldn’t. It couldn’t. They wouldn’t allow it.

The buzz in the air from the mist and the smell was - encouraging, as they laid themselves down above the pool of blood. They looked at the knife for a moment longer and began chanting again, letting the words and the smoke and the scent dizzy them as they slashed themselves and let the blood flow, mixing with the animals. It was exhilarating, dangerous. As blood continued to flow they felt darkness threaten, just across the barrier. They got as close as they dared, so much of their blood in the pool that it threatened to overflow, before they ended the chant and plunged down toward the pool and began to drink.

At first, it was just blood, metallic and hot, but as the darkness closed in it changed. The taste grew darker and power began to flow, deep and dangerous and alluring. They drank until the pool was empty, the blood seeming to obey and push itself into their throat even as their muscles grew weaker. The pool was empty and the darkness closed in, inexorable. Ichor gasped out a final word of power, and then there was no more.

Ichor woke again and opened their eyes and felt a wave of relief- it had worked!- until it was quickly overwhelmed by a Hunger for blood, blood, had to have it. They fell upon the last animal in the room, one they had brought just in case one of the others was unacceptable, and drained it dry with newfound fangs in its neck. Their mind cleared as they drank, the deep hunger fading to a bone-deep want instead of an overwhelming need. They stood again, noticing that their body was cold and gray now. Fascinating. They hadn’t expected something so dramatic, but it made about as much sense as the rest of this. But they were moving and able and felt so strong and able- the blood could let them do anything. This new power was amazing. Now all that was left was to explore it and tell Prometheus what they had done.