The moon hung low over the Nile, casting ghostly reflections on the river’s surface. Malik stood at the edge of the ancient water, his gaze fixed on the horizon, where the ruins of an old temple jutted from the sands like the bones of a long-dead creature. The air was thick with the scent of dust and decay, a reminder of how ancient this land truly was. He had come far in search of answers, and though the path he walked was cloaked in darkness, the stakes had never been higher.
For centuries, whispers of the artifact’s existence had drifted through the secret circles of Egypt, growing louder as the tides of power shifted. The Pharaohs were long gone, and with them, their mortal reign. Vampires now ruled the hidden places of this ancient land, their influence stretching far beyond the reaches of the mortal world. Malik, once a loyal protector of the night, now found himself in pursuit of something far greater. The legends spoke of a relic capable of wielding Set’s chaotic powers—an artifact said to contain a fragment of the god's essence.
The power to control chaos itself.
His informant had led him here, to the ruins of a forgotten temple, buried beneath the desert for millennia. The winds had long since covered its entrance with shifting sands, but Malik’s instincts had guided him true. According to ancient scrolls, the artifact had been hidden by a powerful pharaoh who feared what it could unleash upon the world. Yet Malik was no stranger to power, nor to the dangers that came with it. He craved it. The artifact, with all its promises of destruction and control, was his key to ruling over the vampire covens—and perhaps, over Egypt itself.
The night was still. Too still. Malik’s senses were sharp, his instincts honed over centuries of survival in the shadows. His hand traced the scar that ran along his jaw, a reminder of battles long fought and enemies long vanquished. This mission was different, though. The forces he was up against weren’t just mortal or even vampire—they were older, darker, and infused with the divine chaos of Set himself.
As Malik approached the entrance of the ruined temple, a chill crawled up his spine. The air shifted, almost imperceptibly, but enough for him to notice. He wasn’t alone. He could sense the presence of another, lurking in the darkness, watching his every move.
The wind stirred, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of death. A figure stepped out from the shadows, cloaked in black robes that flowed like liquid night. Malik recognized him immediately—Azar, his rival. The two had crossed paths before, each with their own designs on the artifact. Azar had always been one step ahead, but this time, Malik wouldn’t let him claim victory.
"You should have stayed away, Malik," Azar’s voice was like a serpent’s hiss, low and venomous. His eyes glowed red beneath his hood, twin embers in the darkness. "The artifact belongs to me. I’ve spent centuries searching for it, and I won’t let you take what’s mine."
Malik smiled, his fangs glinting in the pale light of the moon. "That’s where you’re wrong, Azar. The artifact belongs to whoever is strong enough to claim it."
Azar’s lips curled into a snarl. "You think you’re strong enough to wield the power of a god?"
"I don’t need to think," Malik said, his voice a low growl. "I know."
The tension between them crackled like lightning, each vampire poised to strike. The air around them seemed to pulse with energy, the presence of Set’s lingering chaos seeping into the night. Malik knew that this encounter was only the beginning. The real battle lay ahead, deep within the temple’s ancient halls, where the power of a god awaited.
Obrigado pela leitura!
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