# Ritual Revelations The Storytelling Collective is hosting a Flash Fiction February event, in which writers are encouraged to write a piece of flash fiction every day in February. This is my second entry. [[Feb 1]] - [[Feb 2]] - [[Feb 3]] --- Have you ever wondered how long an ancient ritual sacrifice actually takes? Yeah. Neither did I—until I became one. That cold, worn, and stained stone slab provided absolutely no comfort. At times, I felt like _it_ was breathing and pulling the ropes tighter with each inhale—but in reality it was my own chest causing the discomfort. The flickering torches seemed to put out more heat than a simple flame should. Eventually, when my extremities became numb and hot at the same time, I realized I’d never considered the wait time those before me had to endure. According to my psycho boss, the guy who sliced my palm so he could smear my blood onto the faces of two warrior statues on either side of the altar, we simply needed to wait until the moon slipped behind the canyon wall. While he and two of my insane coworkers tied me down, he explained that the statues would come to life and “consume my essence” before becoming his powerful allies in a conquest meant to take over the world. That, of course, lead to thoughts about what would happen to everyone else on the planet if this “sacrifice” actually worked. Would they be subjugated, enslaved, wiped from the face of the Earth? Thoughts of others suffering kept me fighting like hell the whole time, but three men against one woman meant I had no chance at getting away—but at least I tried. I wondered if there were signs in our interactions—and in naivety, I had ignored them, but thinking back, there was nothing. They all seemed perfectly nice, maybe even too nice. When they sat back and discussed things in whispers, I fought the urge to sleep. The struggle depleted my energy, but if the statues actually came to life, I sure as hell wasn’t going to miss the transformation—and the chance to plead with the ancient warriors to let me live. The moon finally neared the end of its journey. My fear morphed into anger. And the anger itself made absolutely no attempt to be logical. Anyone else would be fuming at the fact that they’d been lured to the canyon under false pretenses, been sliced across the palm…_why was it always the palm?_ That’s just a strange place to cut someone, in my opinion. Anyway, lured under false pretenses, sliced up, tied down—and all I could think about was how pissed off I’d be if it was all for nothing…if it was some sort of elaborate hazing for new museum workers…if _nothing_ happened and my boss, Soren, had to figure out what to do with me then. Would he let me go and laugh it off somehow? Would he leave me to die of starvation and dehydration? Would he try to persuade me not to press charges? Or maybe he’d just kill me himself and walk away. He certainly didn’t hesitate to slide the razor-sharp edge of his pocket knife across my skin. I also kept wondering what my psycho boss would do if the bloodthirsty warriors turned on him. If they were the kind of men that demanded a woman to consume upon their awakening, why wouldn’t they also be the kind of men to simply gut Soren the first time he annoyed them? Part of me wished I would be around to see that. Eventually, the last sliver of the full moon sunk below the crest of the canyon wall. I looked over at the statues, illuminated by the lanterns of my coworkers, and to my surprise they slowly began to take on color. As the saturation of their skin increased, the warriors began to move and take breath. I started to speak, but before I could get the first word out, the warriors moved swiftly. The one near my head slammed his sword down on the ropes attached to my wrist. It caused a strange blue light to spread across the slab and break the rest of my bonds. Meanwhile, the other took a defensive stance aimed at Soren. “Do you wish us to kill this man, my queen?” the one near my feet asked. I shook free from the ropes and sat up. Somehow, everything became crystal clear. Ryan, the Roscorian expert, had translated the ancient writings incorrectly. The warriors weren’t there to serve Soren, they were there to serve me. They had already consumed my essence and knew every thought I had before I expressed it and I knew theirs as well. I also knew what they were really capable of. The ritual had created a bond with my blood, not a contract to destroy me and take my life force. My gaze flitted to Soren. “Show me. Show me what he would have done with the power you possess.” “This will cause him great pain, as we are not bonded to him.” “So be it.” “And the others?” “I want to see their intentions as well.” With a nod, the warriors went into action. My place on the slab was now filled with the three who placed me there. And I watched as I saw their nefarious plots and devised ways to impose the opposite outcomes. Where they wished for famine, I wished for feast. Where they wished for chains, I wished for freedom. Their fight against prosperity for the masses became my war on the elite. After seeing the potential future I could bring about, I turned to the warriors. “They will live to see everything they dreamed turned into a nightmare.”