Page 56 of The Flesh Remembers
The air in the underground chamber clung to Eleanor like a second skin, thick, humid, and suffused with a dark, acrid scent that burned the back of her throat. The damp stone walls seemed to glisten, slick with moisture that oozed like perspiration from the room. Torches sputtered weakly in their brackets, their flames throwing erratic, menacing shadows that writhed and coiled as though animated by the chamber's will. The oppressive heat pressed inward, each breath a struggle against the weight of the room’s suffocating presence. At the center stood Blackwood, his towering figure draped in ceremonial robes that seemed to breathe with him, the runes adorning them pulsing faintly with galvanic energy, alive, malevolent, and watching.
"Brothers and sisters," his voice boomed, carrying the weight of command. "Tonight, we face an infestation ofdoubt. Doubt is a contagion, a poison that festers and spreads if left unchecked. We must root it out at its source to ensure our unity."
The gathered acolytes murmured in agreement; their faces mixed with anticipation and fear. At Blackwood’s signal, two attendants dragged a bound figure into the chamber. It was Clara, a novice known for her quiet demeanour and pious devotion. Her tear-streaked face was pale, her eyes darting wildly as she struggled against her restraints.
Eleanor lingered in the crowd, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. She knew what was coming. The "Devotion Trial" was a ceremony whispered about in the clinic’s darkest corners, a grotesque spectacle designed to purge disloyalty and strengthen the cult’s hold.
Blackwood turned his piercing gaze toward Clara. "You have been accused of harbouring doubt, of questioning the sanctity of our mission. How do you plead?"
Clara’s voice trembled as she stammered, "I… I’ve done nothing wrong! Please, I swear my loyalty!"
Blackwood’s lips curled into a cold smile. "Then prove it."
Blackwood stepped aside, revealing an elaborate contraption at the centre of the room. It was a towering frame of wrought iron; its surface etched with intricate runes that glowed faintly. Chains hung from its arms, ending in cuffs lined with silk, a disturbing juxtaposition of softness and restraint. At the base of the frame was a shallow basin filled with a viscous, dark liquid that seemed to shimmer unnaturally. Small metallic appendages buzzed with faint vibrations along its sides, their shapes explicitly designed to stimulate.
"The Devotion Trial is simple," Blackwood said, addressing the room. "You will submit yourself fully to thewill of the collective. Your body, your mind, and your soul will be laid bare. If your devotion is true, the field will accept you. If not…" He let the words hang, the unspoken threat more chilling than anything he could have said.
Clara’s breath came in quick, erratic pants as she was dragged toward the frame. The attendants secured her wrists and ankles in the cuffs, her trembling form splayed and vulnerable. Blackwood approached her, his fingers tracing the runes on the frame with an almost reverent touch.
"Begin," he commanded.
The room fell into a tense silence as an attendant stepped forward, holding a ceremonial blade with a jagged edge. He cut away Clara’s robes with practiced precision, exposing her to the leering crowd. Her skin glowed faintly in the torchlight, marked by faint scars and the beginnings of runes etched into her flesh during previous rites.
The first part of the trial was the "Ritual of Exposure," a symbolic act designed to strip away any pretence or hidden disloyalty. Blackwood stepped closer, his voice low and commanding.
"Do you feel the eyes upon you, Clara? Do you feel the weight of their judgment?"
Clara’s lips quivered as she nodded, her tears glistening like jewels.
"Good," Blackwood said. "Now, let us see if you can bear the weight of your devotion."
An attendant approached with a vial of the dark liquid from the basin. He poured it over Clara’s chest with a twisted smile, the substance clinging to her like a second skin. The liquid began to glow, and Clara gasped as it seeped into her flesh, the runes on her body lighting up in response. She writhed against the restraints, her cries a mix of pain and something disturbingly close to ecstasy.
The metallic appendages along the frame began to hum, their vibrations intensifying as they moved along her thighs and torso. Clara’s gasps turned into involuntary moans, her body responding to the stimulation despite her visible anguish. The crowd watched in rapt silence, their breaths quickening as the galvanic energy in the room thickened.
The next phase of the trial required the audience's involvement. Blackwood turned to the assembled acolytes,his gaze sweeping over them like a predator selecting its prey.
"Devotion is not a solitary act," he said. "It is a collective bond, forged in the fires of shared sacrifice. Who among you will step forward to guide Clara through her trial?"
The room hesitated, the acolytes exchanging nervous glances. Finally, a man stepped forward, it was Frye. He approached the frame with a hungry gleam in his eyes, his hands trembling with anticipation.
"I will," Frye said, his voice steady despite the slight tremor of his hands. Eleanor was shocked at Frye’s consent. He had been so against what they were doing, so sure that they were bringing something monstrous and evil into the world. What had changed within him? In truth, Frye succumbed to one of the oldest motivators in history. Money. Blackwood had offered Frye more money than he could have ever imagined if he remained until after the experiment. Frye would never have to work again, never want for anything, and for once, live a life of comfort and leisure. Such things never stood a chance against Frye’s tenuous morals. But too, the more he saw the power in these rites, the more he believed that Blackwood would succeed in his plans, whatever they might be, and Frye knew enough to be on the winning side of history.
Blackwood nodded approvingly. "Then proceed."
Frye’s powerful hands roamed Clara’s body, tracing the glowing runes as he murmured softly. His touch was firm but disturbingly reverent, as though he were worshiping a divine artifact. The metallic appendages adjusted to Frye’s movements, enhancing the stimulation until Clara’s cries of protest dissolved into whimpers of unwilling pleasure. The galvanic field seemed to react to Frye’s movements, amplifying the sensation and drawing gasps from the audience, who leaned closer as though pulled by an unseenforce. Frye picked up two long, thin metal rods that sparked with a blue electric current as he brought them close to Clara’s pale face. The terror in her eyes illuminated in the blue glow as Frye continued to bring them closer and closer until they were mere inches from her tear-filled eyes. Clara squeezed her eyes shut tight, bracing herself for the inevitable shock.
“No, no, eyes open,” Frye said to her softly, his gaze intense with anticipation.
Young Clara opened her eyes reluctantly, and Frye smiled. “Yes, that’s a good girl.” Frye then brought the two metal rods to the tips of her pink nipples and watched with a smile as the blue current crackled, striking the tender flesh there. Clara cried out in pain, but the crowd watched in hushed fascination as her nipples hardened under the current, and Clara unconsciously arched her back in a silent plea for more.
“Mmm, yes.” Frye began rubbing the metal rods over the pink pebbled flesh faster, the only sound that could be heard in the room was the crackle of the current as it connected with her flesh and Clara’s cries of pained ecstasy.
Eleanor watched in horrified fascination, her body responding with a flush of heat. She hated how the ritual affected her, how the dark energy in the room seeped into her veins and ignited forbidden desires. Around her, other acolytes began to murmur prayers or press against one another, feeding the collective frenzy.
As the trial climaxed, Blackwood raised his arms, the runes on his robes blazing with power. The room vibrated with energy, the air thick with the scent of sweat and incense. He turned to Clara, his voice rising above the cacophony.
"Now, Clara, you must make your final offering. Prove your devotion by surrendering your last shred of resistance. Give yourself fully to the field."
