Light from the torches and candles flickered against the sandstone walls and columns of the underground temple, the scent of some unknown incense filtering from unseen censers. In the center of the room sat a man, patiently allowing himself to be tattooed. It took what seemed a great deal of time, yet the artist worked swiftly and precisely. First, the outline of a scarab beetle began to take form on the young man’s right shoulder blade, the inked lines dark and clean. Color was added thereafter, in stark contrast to the deep darkness of the outline, but beautiful in their precise shades, and technique the artist used.
The artist themselves were nothing more than a silhouette. No one spoke throughout the process, the only sound being a low chant in a foreign tongue. Eventually, the tattoo was complete. The artist stepped away, melding into the shadows, the young man stood to stretch, then got down on his knees, sitting back on his heels as the chanting stopped. A curtain from a ‘til now unseen side room parted, and out stepped a man, his skin a shade or two darker than the young man’s. He was bald, bare chested, and wore a knee-length skirt made of white linen. As he approached the young man, his bright green eye s glinted in the light, which danced across his own numerous tattoos.
“The scarab symbolizes the never-ending cycle of life,” the priest began. “The renewal of the day; the idea of regeneration and rebirth. Life, after death.” He reached down, using a finger to reach under the chin of the young man, and tilted it upwards, so that he was looking at the priest. “An apt symbol for a ghoul – my ghoul.” he said, with slight emphasis, and a smile that showed the barest hint of fangs.
The ghoul nodded in agreement, but said nothing. The priest walked to an altar, removing a cup filled with a dark liquid. When he stood in front of the ghoul again, he dipped a finger into the cup. It hovered there, dripping into the cup for a moment, before he moved to mark his ghoul. “With this, I anoint you. You are in service to me, and Set, God of the desert, foreign lands, thunderstorms, eclipses, and earthquakes.”
Once he completed the anointing, he admired his ghoul for a moment, before speaking again. “With this blood, I consecrate your scarab; your symbol of devotion toward Lord Set and I.” The priest took the cup then, pouring it over the ghoul’s shoulder slowly, so that the blood from the cup gradually coated the entirety of the scarab, mingling with the fresh blood the tattoo had left behind. Once the blood in the cup had been depleted, the priest brought his wrist to his mouth, and bit deeply, before offering it to his ghoul. The ghoul managed to restrain himself as he reached out for the arm and latched on, though he failed in restraint when he began to drink deeply of that which was offered to him.
The priest pulled away after a moment, bringing his wrist to his own mouth, and licked the wound closed. “Rise now, my attendant. New things await you very soon.”
Nick awoke from a deep sleep, picking up his phone to check the time. He hadn’t been asleep for very long, but he felt rested. His dream had been a very vivid one, almost like he was in the room with Charles and Ryan as this odd yet interesting ritual took place. It didn’t seem likely that it had been real, but it certainly felt like it had been. He wondered, as he got up, if there were any meaning to it, ultimately deciding to change his morning routine for the day, skipping his workout in favor of things more important on a personal scale.