Aamon grumbled to himself, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor a monotonous counterpoint to his internal monologue. "Confined to this flimsy cot like a particularly sickly caterpillar," he muttered, flexing his hand gingerly. The movement sent a dull ache through his arm, confirming his suspicions - this human form was woefully inadequate.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, momentarily cutting through the sterile hum of the room. A tall man with a worried frown etched on his face entered, followed by a vision that momentarily startled even the jaded god.
Dr. Reyes was a sight to behold. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders in loose waves, framing a face that could launch a thousand ships (or at least a decent raid on a well-stocked mead hall, Aamon mused). Her eyes, a deep emerald green, held a spark of intelligence and warmth that sent a flicker of something unfamiliar – perhaps begrudging interest – through Aamon's core.
"Adrian? How are you feeling?" Dr. Reyes asked, her voice a soothing melody.
"Oh, terrible, absolutely dreadful," Aamon croaked, forcing a pathetic cough that sounded more like a wheeze. "Every bone feels like it's been scraped by a particularly grumpy troll." Internally, he rolled his obsidian eyes. This whole weakling act was starting to wear thin, but for now, it was necessary.
Dr. Reyes knelt beside the bed, placing a cool hand on his forehead. Aamon suppressed a shiver. Not from the touch itself, which was admittedly pleasant, but from the strange energy that pulsed from her fingertips. This woman was no mere mortal healer, he could sense it. Perhaps a lesser deity in disguise? No, that wouldn't explain the stethoscope dangling around her neck. A particularly powerful sorceress then? Hmm, the possibilities were intriguing.
The doctor's brow furrowed as she examined him. Aamon winced dramatically at every touch, milking the whole "frail human" act for all it was worth. Finally, she turned to Adrian's father, her expression serious.
"Mr. Walker," she began, "while Adrian seems to be physically stable, I recommend keeping him here for further observation. He may have sustained internal injuries we haven't detected yet."
Aamon's internaly screamed to himself. Observe? Stay in this glorified cage any longer? This wouldn't do! He had to learn the ways of this strange world, its magic, its technology, its… attractive doctors.
"But doctor," he rasped, his voice bordering on a plea, "I feel much better! Really! I just want to go home, crawl into my nice, soft bed, maybe read a good book on… uh… human anatomy?" He threw in the last part for good measure, hoping to sound knowledgeable.
Dr. Reyes raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in her green eyes. "Perhaps later, young man," she said gently.
Aamon slumped back against the pillows, defeat momentarily weighing him down. He hadn't anticipated this hurdle. This "observation" was an unwelcome complication. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to maintain the façade of a sickly teenager.
"But Dad," Aamon rasped, piling on the melodrama, "I'm serious! I feel fine. Really, a good night's sleep in my own bed is all I need." Internally, he cursed his own carelessness. This whole "weakling" act was proving more difficult than anticipated.
His father, Mr. Walker, a man more comfortable navigating boardrooms than hospital rooms, looked from Aamon to Dr. Reyes with a furrowed brow. "Are you sure, doctor? He seems… different somehow."
Aamon bristled. Different? Or perhaps just… more cunning? He schooled his expression into one of innocent confusion.
Dr. Reyes, bless her emerald eyes, simply smiled reassuringly. "Perhaps a slight concussion from the accident, Mr. Walker. It can affect mood and behavior for a short time. I recommend keeping him under observation for a day or two, just to be safe."
Aamon's internal monologue descended into a string of curses that would have made even the most seasoned demon blush. A concussion? This "doctor" with her unsettling beauty and strange magic was clearly trying to subdue him! He was Aamon, the Devourer of Gods, not some fragile human susceptible to a little bump on the head.
"A concussion?" he sputtered, his voice cracking slightly despite his best efforts. "But I barely hit my head! It was more of a…" He trailed off, searching for a believable excuse. "A… a gentle nudge."
Mr. Walker's concern deepened. "Maybe the doctor's right, Adrian. A little rest won't hurt."
Aamon slumped back against the pillows, defeat momentarily washing over him. He had underestimated the challenges of this new world. Not only was his power dormant, but even his carefully crafted deception seemed vulnerable to the wiles of a pretty doctor. However, Aamon was not one to give up easily. He would learn the ways of this strange human magic, its strengths and weaknesses. He would win over this captivating Dr. Reyes, not with forced weakness, but with cunning and, perhaps, a touch of the old Aamon charm (once he figured out how to translate it into this pathetic human form).
This world might not be the Obsidian Citadel, but it held its own unique challenges. And with a little strategy, and maybe some lessons in flirting from the captivating Dr. Reyes, Aamon, the Devourer of Gods (albeit currently masquerading as a concussion-prone teenager), would rise again.