The desert night was not silent.
Not anymore.
What had once been a veil of pristine stars, crowning the pyramids in their ancient glory, was now stained with screams, howls, and wails. Vampires and werewolves tore each other apart in a relentless clash, each trying to prove supremacy. Claws against fangs. Shadows against flesh. Fury against steel.
The wind-driven sand was no longer golden: it turned red with each gust, transforming the desert into a field of makeshift graves. Where pharaohs and forgotten empires once rested, now lay twisted limbs, mutilated bodies, and empty eyes. The smell permeated everything—iron, sulfur, and smoke—as if even the gods had closed their eyes to the carnage.
Atop the largest of the pyramids, a figure stood motionless.
Alexa.
