Note: I have a stockpile of generated pictures that I was cleaning off my computer and came across the one above. No idea why or for what story. I chose to give myself one last challenge for 2024 and write a story based on the image in thirty minutes. ( Editing took longer)
Blood Ritual- Beginning of the end.
Bathing in the blood of our enemy has been part of our history for as long as any elder can remember. I am uncertain as to why we still do it, yet here I am in ceremonial dress, preparing to dip in the life blood of those I killed.
This is every young persons hope and dream, to finally be worthy of being anointed in the ritual blood of the fallen. For some, it takes years to be rewarded. A few never have the glory, and those few become shunned, for they lacked the prowess in battle or were too cowardly to fight like a true warrior.
On the battlefield our medics rush to save the enemy as quickly as they try to heal our own. For different reasons, we patch up our foe from bleeding out the necessary nutrients that are needed for the ceremony. Keeping them alive until they are needed, then we dispatch them, draining their life blood into the offering pools.
Every night of the blue moon, this ritual is held across our kingdom.
In our village, a dozen stand ready to bathe in the glutinous essence. Removing our robes we present ourselves, naked as we came into the world, ready for our evolution to accept the next phase. Our group circles the large marble pool, waiting to step in for the first time.
We fought bravely, defending our territory. We hunted down a large party of their soldiers and defeated them. In truth I am shocked at the amount of blood before us, all from our kills in this one battle.
The scented smells of fresh mulldury flowers and winter pine waft from the thick red liquid, perfumed oils added to cover the metallic rot and stench of death.
The priests chant while the sorcerers wail, praying to our Gods to bless us, so we may share and gain the strength of the sacrificial dead. Helping us become stronger, while we absorb the memories and knowledge of our vanquished. Making us the ultimate soldiers.
The chanting rises to a crescendo, as one we step forth and begin to wade in the pool. Warmth soothes my feet and tickles my ankles as the blood creeps upwards upon my flesh. Slowly we march in, until we are waist deep. As one we kneel, till the thick red waters wrap around our throat like a soft strangulation, a final attempt from the deceased to fight on.
Before I close my eyes to sink my head below the crimson fluid, I look upon the eyes of my family and see their pride. My father shared his experience of his submergence ritual, how he felt invigored with the strength and souls of the departed soldiers.
Soon I will rise, and they shall embrace their son, the warrior.
Taking a breath, I submerge.
All sound diminishes, the outside world has vanished, there is only me. I hear voices, cries of anguish of our fallen foe. In a crimson haze I see visions of people walking towards me, arms outstretched and smiles upon their faces. I have never seen these people before, yet I know them, they are the loved ones of those I dispatched, their families and friends. I sense their life passing into me, as memories of others become mine, their hopes, and dreams, the feeling of loss, all now mine.
I am horrified to see that these people who we thought our enemy were not. At one time yes, but they lost and for years the government had us convinced they were still our foe. We were told childhood tales and taught in schools, stories of these barbaric hordes, killing our children, raping, and pillaging were all lies.
In truth we have hunted them for generations as sport. I hear their cries for peace. Suddenly a future where we are one, sharing land, laughing, and loving, raising families in peace is so vivid and disturbing it frightens me.
I now see the battle I fought was not against their warriors, it was a village where we slaughtered every man, woman, and child.
We are no heroes.
Rising from the pool. I see in the eyes of my companions they too have experienced the same as I.
My father sees my confusion, while others cheer, his smile slowly dissipates into bewilderment. His embrace is forced and feels unnatural.
It was not until later did we realize what had happened, or rather what they did. At first it was hundreds, then later thousands of our soldiers were infected.
I was one of them.
Within a year our people could not raise and army. We soon discovered that how clever our enemy really were, much more diabolical than we could ever have imagined. They introduced a virus into the blood of their people, which we absorbed with every ritual.
It did not kill us, it was worse, so much worse. Our will to fight evaporated, we felt no anger and the honor of killing left our soul. Across the battlefield we no longer saw an enemy. Instead, they were our brothers, cousins, sons, daughters, and sisters, all our friends. Groups of warriors dropped their weapons, turned around and marched away. We could no longer kill. We finally understood that every life is important.
The virus didn’t make us ill. The damned thing gave us compassion. In only a matter of two years, they dominated our people without blood shed.
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