DESERT BLOOD

The burning desert sun, illuminating the gold of the vast sands, was burning too brightly when Sekhmet's whisper cut through my hearing. Kneeling before the toppled altar of Thoth, I inhaled the smoke from the frankincense and myrrh with a lion's roar. The amulets were shattered and pieces of them were scattered across the stone of the temple lost in mirages. Blood-red oil dripped down my arms, leaving the writing of an ancient curse on my skin. The hot wind that laughed with Seth's breath carried sand through the cracked columns, whispering of the end of time.
Even the hearts in the sacrificial bowls could no longer appease the Great Ra's anger at those who went against his will. The gods had turned their backs on those they themselves had spawned. And now that the high priests had fallen and the temples were swallowed by the desert, I alone, chosen and cursed by my own power, stood between the world of the living and the chaos that came from the east, where the purple sun's rook heralded blood.