Omega was barely aware of being led to the entrance of a long path paved with light stone, leading to a majestic altar, drowning in bright spots of fresh flowers. The woman with sharp movements straightened the edges of his lace dress, pulled another thin veil over his hair, carefully adjusted the folds of the fabric. But all the care, which seemed formal, had neither warmth nor real care. Because everything happened mechanically, with indifference, as if he were a doll, nothing more. Omega did not hear her words, did not distinguish either the sounds around him, or the smells of flowers generously laid out along the path. Only one question pounded dully in his head, turning every thought into chaos: how did he end up here, in this absurd, crazy dream? Where he, a man, was dressed in a dress, brought out to be shown in front of a crowd of monsters. Where every glance tore him apart from the inside, leaving behind a feeling of sticky, unwashable shame.
The woman, ignoring his confusion, gestured for him to go, but his legs seemed to have grown to the ground, refusing to obey.
And then a whole flock of small creatures poured out onto the path, surrounding him from all sides.
They were tiny, the size of a palm, with wings shimmering in the light, thin legs and arms, strange eyes, too huge for their tiny faces. Their movements were fast, like those of insects. But in these tiny bodies there was a strength that was unacceptable for their size, just like that of ants. Only a hundred times stronger than ants
They began to push Omega.
At first with light, almost playful kicks on his legs, on his calves. But as soon as he tried to linger for even a moment, their blows became stronger and more vicious.
Omega cried out softly as one of the creatures grabbed the hem of his dress and jerked forward, forcing him to take the first tentative step down the path.
He walked.
His body was shaking, every muscle was twisted with terror, every cell of his being was warning him.
"This is all one big absurdity."
His dress, rustling with every movement, seemed to emphasize how alien he was here, in this festival of power and submission.
And then he heard the whispers again, walking along the altar.
This time they did not come from the servants, as then in the room; now they sounded from all sides. They were muffled, tense voices of the invited, standing in rows along the path. Whispers in which there was neither regret nor sympathy, only anticipation.
"Today he will receive the mark," one whispered.
"The Master will do it himself," another added with a hint of delight.
"In front of everyone..." the third drawled ominously.
"If only it weren't behind the carpet."
The Omega felt something inside him shrink, twist, turn into an icy lump.
He understood the meaning of these words.
The Mark.
A real, bloody, irreversible mark of belonging.
After all, he hadn't imagined it. The men in the room were actually discussing that very mark.
He had never experienced it before - no one had ever touched him so deeply. No one had ever left their mark on him forever, and now the prospect of his body being forever connected to the body of someone he feared, hated, and whose presence broke his will with just one scent seemed worse than death.
But he didn't understand why the alpha himself needed it? After all, the omega knew that when blood mixed during a bite and penetration, the alpha also received a mark on his body, which appeared on his tongue. While for the omega it appears on his neck.
He raised his eyes, slowly, as if the very weight of looking at the world around him was unbearable. And before him spread a picture so beautiful and unreal that for a moment he caught his breath, not from delight, but from a sense of absurdity that flooded his mind with renewed vigor.
For the first time he saw the altar to which he was walking. The altar was drowning in greenery and flowers.
It seemed that nature itself had built this theater, scattering petals on the stone path, weaving thin threads of vines into the columns, entwining them with living wreaths.
The bright light emanating from the wrought-iron lanterns with fireflies created the feeling that he was walking through a dream, into a world where everything is an illusion, created only to brighten up the inevitable.
And there, at the very center of the altar, stood a phoenix.
Its feathers burned with living gold and bloody scarlet, shimmering with every movement of its wings. The bird's eyes were huge, full of that ancient power that knew too much about the world to be surprised by its cruelty.
The Phoenix stood calmly, with the dignity of a true ruler, ready to bless something that was blasphemy in itself.
And Omega, watching this magnificence through the tears that filled his eyes, could not stand it..
Somewhere deep in his chest or under his ribs, a dull, half-soundless chuckle was heard.
The laughter of someone who realizes how absurd his life has become.
Laughter because he, a captive, a slave, worn out by chains and hunger, is now being led to be married in front of the eternal fire. Under the singing of a golden phoenix.
In front of a free bird.
He continued to move forward, although each step seemed like violence against himself, and finally his gaze fell on the figure standing at the altar.
Alpha.
Tall, straight, as if carved from the darkness, he stood surrounded by all this living, vibrant beauty as if not a single flower would dare touch his cold aura.
He was dressed in dark, richly embroidered clothes, emphasizing every sharp, powerful curve of his figure. There was something frightening in its beauty in this stern, ruthless appearance.
He looked straight at Omega.
His eyes were cold and heavy, there was not a drop of tenderness in them, not a hint of the love that the two standing before the altar should have shared.
Only impatience.
Only a silent command: faster.
And Omega, feeling his body tremble under that gaze, quickened his steps, although his heart resisted every forward movement.
When he approached, the crowd behind him froze.
All this mass of strange creatures, horned, feathered, with skin of different shades, rose in a single impulse, creating the sensation of a wall of living bodies, from behind which there was no way back.
The Phoenix slowly spread its wings, and a low, solemn cry, like a roll of distant thunder, spread over the altar.
The ceremony began.
Alpha stepped toward him, grabbed his wrists with cold fingers and pulled him closer to himself without any effort, forcing him to raise his head.
Omega tried to lower his gaze, wanted to hide behind his lowered eyelashes, but the iron grip on his wrists did not allow even that.
"Look at me," Alpha ordered quietly, but there was such pressure in his voice that Omega obeyed almost automatically, torn between fear and humiliation.
And then, looking into those infinitely cold eyes, feeling how his breathing became ragged, how a heavy, crushing lumps of pain rose in his throat, Omega finally could not stand it.
Through clenched teeth all this time he exhaled:
"Please... don't put a mark on me... not in front of everyone..."
His voice was barely audible, but each word cut into the air between them, like a confession, like a last, desperate attempt to hold on to at least a scrap of his freedom.
Alpha only grinned.
"Let's go faster," he urged the bird.