Flash Fiction (1057 words): The King's Molt

[Dox Me Kev]

Whipped up a 1,000 word flash fiction, just having some fun.

This is about a man who molts for three days to ascend as the new king. No swearing. No gore per se, but maybe some yucky descriptions of blood and dead skin.

Spoiler

Elefir hurried back to the dais, sandals slapping against the stone as he cradled the heavy water-laden basin with one hand and attempted to hold up the heavy cloth of his tarkah with the other. The new king, huddled on the stone dais on a pile of his own bloody semi-translucent skin, released an agonized bellow and hugged his stomach as if gripped by terrible illness.

 

That'll be his stomach and organs growing to accommodate this larger body, Elefir thought. He lowered the basin to the floor, too afraid to place it on the dais lest the thrashing king knock it over. He knew this was the hardest part of the transformation process--the final hour on the final day of the three day molt. In the long hours leading up to this moment, the king's flesh had stretched and split, pushed apart by bulging muscles and thickening bones that grew too quickly for his skin to accommodate them. Elefir had dutifully whisked away the dead skin as it sloughed off the king's body and laid it out on a nearby wooden table, like salted meat left out to dry.

 

Elefir submerged a clean length of cotton into the water basin and held it firmly against the back of the king's neck.

 

The door to the antechamber burst open and the captain of the king's guard ran the length of the sacred chamber to where Elefir was attending the king. He quickly dropped to one knee, bowing his head and resting an elbow on his armored thigh.

 

"Explain yourself!" Elefir demanded, boiling anger quickly replaced by a throat-gripping chill. There were few reasons that would compel the guard to break sacred tradition--not to mention the king's explicit orders--and enter the chamber during the king's molt.

 

"Lord Elefir," the guard said, rising. "The outer hall has been breached. The inner sanctum is surrounded."

 

Elefir felt the blood drain from his face. Had he not been fasting for nearly three days, he was sure he'd have vomited on the spot. "B-breached...? Breached how?"

 

"I don't know. Reports say they infiltrated the castle guard. Pretenders, Lord Elefir. Imposters." His eyes flicked briefly over Elefir's shoulder at where the king was writhing, and Elefir saw his eyes widen ever so slightly, his jaw clenching for an instant. "How long until... until this is finished?"

 

"Minutes, perhaps. What will we do?"

 

The door at the opposite end of the antechamber outside crashed open and the sound of metal against metal filled the air as the king's guard rushed forward to engage the marauders.

 

"We protect the king," the captain said. He withdrew his sword, nodded at Elefir, and turned to join the fray.

 

The door slammed behind the guard, and an air of finality descended upon the sacred chamber.

 

"Protect the king..." Elefir muttered. He looked around. Torches held by ornate sconces cast a bright, flickering light upon plush carpeting and heavy tablecloths. Two wooden tables formed Elefir's station, covered in lengths of cotton, a large copper basin of water, and various herbs and poultices. At the base of the stone steps leading up to the dais were offerings of food and coin--sacrifices from the common people to show respect and deference toward their newly ascended king.

 

No weapons.

 

Not that I'd know what to do if I had any, he thought.

 

The sounds of battle in the antechamber intensified, seeming to reach a crescendo before a heavy thud against the door heralded an ominous silence. Elefir could hear muttering from without, but wasn't able to identify whether the source was the invaders or the guards.

 

With a start, Elefir realized just how quiet it was in the chamber and whirled to look at the king. He was sitting at the edge of the dais, his muscular legs hanging over the side, facing the rear of the chamber where the crown sat upon its thick cushioned pillow atop a heavy wooden podium.

 

The king gazed on for a moment, then took a single breath, deep and long, before hefting himself off the dais to drop to the floor. Elefir's body went taut, his breath catching.

 

The king was a massive specimen, easily over 8 feet tall and a far cry from the "average" man he had been three days past. Striations stood out on muscles that seemed to bulge unnaturally, pressing against the king's newly developed leathery skin. Thick arms like tree trunks hung a bit too far and ended in hands that Elefir was certain could envelop the entirety of his skull. Running along the king's spine was a thick trail of hackles like porcupine quills, and Elefir saw similar patches along the king's shoulders, forearms and hands.

 

The beastly king glided silently to the podium, hackles shivering like grass in the wind, and briefly raised the antlered crown with reverence before lowering it over his head. Just as the crown was in place, the antechamber door opened once more, this time slowly. Deliberately. Five men stepped over the threshold into the sacred chamber, each of them armed and armored in black and red castle guard attire. They were bloody and haggard, but carried themselves with an air of tenacity. The survivor in the middle of the group surveyed the room, glancing briefly at Elefir before settling his eyes on the king.

 

"The demon wakes," the man said with obvious disgust.

 

To his left, another man stepped forward two paces and spoke with practiced authority. "By the grace and command of his Holiest of Holiness, he who rides the sun's chariot into damnation, upon whose breath the commands of God himself are carried, I do hereby compel you to--" quills sprouted from the man's face, and he screamed. The other men gasped in horror or growled in anger as the quilled man raked at his face, stumbling toward the door.

 

So fast!

 

Elefir hadn't been able to process the king's movements. The creature hadn't made a sound, and yet he now stood two steps in front of Elefir.

 

"Elefir," the king said with an amused tone. His deep baritone voice reverberated throughout the chamber as though spoken from an unseeable heavenly source, vibrating in Elefir's very bones. His hackles quivered again, and Elefir noticed the quills on the back of the king's hand ended in nasty hooked barbs.

 

"You've brought me lunch."