VENGEANCE

--Prologue: The Scar of the Past

The desert stretched endlessly, a vast, unbroken sea of golden sand shimmering under the pale, silvery light of the moon. The air was still, heavy with the weight of anticipation, as if the very earth held its breath. The pyramid loomed in the distance, its ancient stones standing tall and unyielding, their surfaces etched with the whispers of a time long forgotten. It was a monument to secrets, to power, to a legacy that had endured for centuries.

At the top of the pyramid stood Dhi’ab, her silhouette stark against the night sky. The wind tugged at her dark hair, carrying with it the faint scent of sand and blood. In her hands, she held a blade, its edge gleaming as she sharpened it with deliberate, almost ritualistic precision. The sound of metal against stone echoed in the stillness, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of her heart.

The scar on her face—a jagged, angry line running from her left temple to her jaw—throbbed faintly, a constant, unrelenting reminder of the night that had changed her life forever. Thirteen years had passed since that fateful night, but the memory was as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. The pain, the loss, the rage - they had shaped her, hardened her, turned her into the warrior she was now.

She paused, her hands stilling as she gazed out over the desert. The lunar eclipse was approaching, its eerie green light already beginning to creep across the horizon. Tonight, the cycle would end. Tonight, she would face Nim’ur, the man who had taken everything from her.
The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint sound of engines in the distance. Dhi’ab’s breath caught in her throat. He was coming. And this time, he was not alone. She tightened her grip on the blade, her knuckles whitening. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and determination coursing through her veins. She closed her eyes, and the memories came flooding back.

--Chapter 1: The Wolf Clan’s Legacy

Thirteen years ago, Dhi’ab was a carefree child of eight, her world a tapestry of golden sands and ancient secrets, woven together under the watchful shadow of the pyramid. She lived with her mother, Leah, in a small village nestled at the edge of the desert. They were the last of the Wolf Clan, a proud and noble lineage sworn to protect the pyramid and its sacred elixir—a mystical water that held no power except during the rare lunar eclipse that graced the skies once every thirteen years. On that night, the water would glow with a fluorescent green light, pulsating with an otherworldly energy, granting unimaginable power to whoever drank it.

Leah, fierce and unwavering, often told Dhi’ab the stories of their ancestors—their sacred duty, their sacrifices, and the eternal struggle against the Tiger Clan, a ruthless enemy that sought to steal the elixir for their own gain. Nim’ur, the last surviving member of the Tiger Clan, was their sworn enemy, a shadow that loomed over their lives, a threat that never faded.

“Remember, Dhi’ab,” Leah would say, her voice steady but laced with urgency, “the elixir is not just water. It is a symbol of balance, a force that holds the world together. If it falls into the wrong hands, chaos will reign. The world as we know it will crumble.”

Dhi’ab would nod solemnly, her young mind struggling to grasp the weight of her mother’s words. She didn’t fully understand the gravity of their duty, but she knew one thing with absolute certainty: she would stand by her mother’s side, no matter what. She would protect the elixir, protect their legacy, and face whatever darkness came their way. Little did she know, that darkness would come sooner than she could have ever imagined, and it would change her life forever.

--Chapter 2: The Night of the Eclipse

The night of the eclipse had been eerily calm. The wind had died down, and the desert was silent, as if nature itself was holding its breath. Leah stood at the entrance of the pyramid, her eyes scanning the horizon. Dhi’ab stood beside her, clutching a small dagger her mother had given her.
As the eclipse began, the world seemed to shift. The moon’s light turned an otherworldly green, casting an ethereal glow over the pyramid. And then, he appeared.

Nim’ur emerged from the shadows, his presence as menacing as the stories had described. His eyes glowed with a feral intensity, and his movements were swift and predatory. Without a word, he lunged at Leah, and the two clashed in a furious battle.

Dhi’ab watched in horror as her mother and Nim’ur fought their way into the heart of the pyramid. She followed, her small feet struggling to keep up. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of blood and magic. The elixir, contained in a simple stone bowl, began to glow as the eclipse reached its peak.

Leah and Nim’ur’s fight was brutal. Both were skilled warriors, their movements a deadly dance. But Nim’ur was relentless. With a powerful strike, he sent Leah crashing to the ground. Dhi’ab screamed and ran to her mother’s side, tears streaming down her face.
Leah’s breathing was labored, but she managed to whisper, “Protect the elixir, Dhi’ab. No matter what.”

Dhi’ab grabbed her mother’s blade and charged at Nim’ur, her small frame trembling with fear and rage. But Nim’ur was too fast. With a swift motion, he struck her across the face, his sharp nails leaving a deep gash. Dhi’ab fell to the ground, unconscious.

--Chapter 3: Until her final Breath

When Dhi’ab’s eyes fluttered open, the world was a blur of pain and confusion. Her head throbbed, her face burned where Nim’ur’s nails had struck her, and her body felt heavy, as if weighed down by an invisible force. But none of that mattered. The first thing she saw the only thing she could see was her mother’s lifeless body.

Leah lay sprawled on the cold stone floor of the pyramid, her chest pierced by the sword that had stolen her life. The blade was still embedded in her, its hilt glinting faintly in the dim light. Blood pooled around her, dark and thick, staining the ancient stones. Dhi’ab’s breath caught in her throat. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “No, no, no!”

Just_moments_earlier : the pyramid had been alive with magic. The lunar eclipse had reached its peak, the moon’s light transforming into a brilliant, fluorescent green. The pyramid itself had begun to glow, its ancient stones humming with energy. At its heart, the bowl of elixir shimmered, the water within radiating an otherworldly light.

Nim’ur stood over the bowl, his face twisted with triumph. He had won. The Wolf Clan was no more, Leah was defeated, and the elixir was his. He raised the bowl to his lips, his sharp teeth glinting in the green light. “Finally,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “The power is mine.”
But Leah, even in her final moments, was not defeated. She lay on the ground, her body broken, her strength fading. But her spirit—her love for her daughter—burned brighter than ever. She saw Dhi’ab lying unconscious nearby, her small body crumpled and still. She saw Nim’ur, his lips curling into a cruel smile as he prepared to drink the elixir.

And she remembered.
The kanzashi. The hairpin weapon her own mother had given her, a secret passed down through generations of the Wolf Clan. It was small, unassuming, but deadly in the right hands. With the last of her strength, Leah reached for it, her fingers trembling as she pulled it from her hair. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes locking onto Nim’ur.

“Not… today,” she whispered.

With a final, desperate effort, she threw the kanzashi. It spun through the air, a flash of silver in the green light. Nim’ur didn’t see it coming. The hairpin struck his hand, the force causing him to drop the bowl. The elixir spilled onto the stone floor, its glow fading as the eclipse ended.
Nim’ur roared in frustration, his voice echoing through the pyramid. “No!” he bellowed, his eyes blazing with fury. He turned to Leah, his face twisted with rage. “You dare deny me?”

In one swift motion, he grabbed his sword from the ground and hurled it at her. The blade pierced her chest, and Leah’s body jerked once before going still. Her eyes, once so full of life, stared blankly at the ceiling.

--Chapter 4: Awakening

“No!” Dhi’ab shouted, her voice echoed through the pyramid, raw and filled with pain. She tried to stand, but her legs gave out beneath her. She crawled to her mother’s side, her hands trembling as she reached for the sword. With a strength she didn’t know she had, she pulled it from Leah’s chest, the blade slick with blood.

Nim’ur watched her, his eyes cold and calculating. For a moment, it seemed he might strike her down. But then he smirked, a cruel, mocking smile. “You’re just a child,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “What can you do?”

He turned and walked away, his laughter echoing through the pyramid. Dhi’ab wanted to chase him, to make him pay for what he’d done. But she couldn’t. She was too weak, too broken.

Instead, she cradled her mother’s head in her lap, her tears falling onto Leah’s face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice choked with grief. “I’m so sorry.”

The pyramid was silent now, the magic gone, the light faded. But in that silence, Dhi’ab made a promise. A vow that would shape the rest of her life.
“I swear it, Mother,” she said, her voice trembling but filled with determination. “I will avenge you. No matter what it takes, no matter how long it takes, I will make him pay. I swear it.”

And in that moment, along with her mother the carefree child died, and the warrior was born.

--Chapter 5: The Preparation

The years that followed were a blur of pain and determination, each day a step closer to vengeance. Dhi’ab was taken in by a distant relative, but her heart remained in the desert, tethered to the pyramid and the memory of her mother. The scar on her face, a jagged reminder of that fateful night, burned with every glance in the mirror. It fueled her, drove her to train relentlessly, her hands calloused from endless hours with the blade. She became a shadow, her movements sharp and precise, her spirit unyielding.

She sought out mentors, those who still remembered the ancient ways of the Wolf Clan. They taught her the secrets of combat, the art of survival, and the weight of her legacy. She studied the history of the pyramid and the elixir, poring over scrolls and texts, determined to understand the full extent of her duty. The elixir was not just water—it was balance, a force that could save or destroy the world. And she, the last of the Wolf Clan, was its guardian.

Time passed, but her resolve never wavered. She waited, biding her time, her eyes always on the horizon. The next lunar eclipse was coming, and with it, her chance to fulfill her oath. The desert whispered her name, and the pyramid stood silent, waiting for the storm she would bring.

--Chapter 6: One Vs 34 Rolls Royce

The desert was silent, save for the faint rustle of sand carried by the wind. At the speed of a storm, Dhi’ab leaped from the peak of the pyramid, slicing through the air like a phantom. She landed with flawless grace. She then stood at the base of the pyramid gracefully, her blade resting against her thigh. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows across the dunes. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the moment. Thirteen years of training, of pain, of waiting, had led her here. Tonight, the cycle would end.

The sound of engines broke the stillness. At first, it was a distant hum, like the growl of a beast awakening. Then it grew louder, a cacophony of roaring motors and screeching tires. Dhi’ab opened her eyes and saw them—thirty-four black Rolls Royce cars, their headlights cutting through the darkness like the eyes of a predator. They came to a halt in a semicircle around the pyramid, their doors opening in unison.

Nim’ur stepped out of the lead car, his presence as commanding as ever. Time had etched lines into his face, but his eyes still burned with the same ferocity she remembered. He was dressed in a black trench coat, his hands gloved, and his sharp nails glinting under the moonlight. Behind him, his gang emerged—men and women armed, their faces masked, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine.

Dhi’ab tightened her grip on her blade. She had expected Nim’ur to come alone, but this—this was a show of force, a reminder of the power he wielded. She took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She had trained for this. She was ready.

Nim’ur’s voice cut through the silence, cold and mocking. “So, the little wolf has grown into a hunter. Tell me, Dhi’ab, do you really think you can defeat me?”

Dhi’ab stepped forward, her voice steady. “This isn’t about defeating you, Nim’ur. This is about justice. For my mother. For the Wolf Clan. For everything you’ve taken from me.”

Nim’ur smirked, his sharp teeth glinting. “Justice? There is no justice in this world, girl. Only power. And tonight, I will take what is rightfully mine.”
Without warning, he raised his hand, and his gang surged forward. Dhi’ab leaped into action, her movements fluid and precise. The first attacker came at her with a machete, but she sidestepped and drove her blade into his side. The second swung a chain, but she ducked and swept his legs out from under him, finishing him with a swift strike.

The fight was a blur of steel and blood. Dhi’ab moved like a shadow, her blade cutting through the air with deadly accuracy. She fought not just with skill, but with rage—every strike was a release of the pain she had carried for thirteen years. One by one, Nim’ur’s men fell, their bodies littering the sand.

But they kept coming. Dhi’ab’s arms grew heavy, her breath ragged. She was outnumbered, and she knew it. But she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop.

--Chapter 7: A Dance of Wolf and Tiger

By the time the last of Nim’ur’s gang fell, Dhi’ab was battered and bleeding. Her clothes were torn, her body covered in cuts and bruises. But she stood tall, her blade still in hand, her eyes locked on Nim’ur.

He clapped slowly, his smirk never fading. “Impressive. But you’re not done yet.” Nim’ur removed his coat, revealing a lean, muscular frame covered in scars. He flexed his hands, his sharp nails glinting like claws. “Let’s see if you’ve truly inherited your mother’s strength.”

The fight began with a blur of motion. Nim’ur was fast—faster than Dhi’ab had anticipated. He lunged at her, his nails slashing through the air. She barely managed to block, the force of his strike sending her stumbling back.

They circled each other, their movements a deadly dance. Nim’ur struck again, his nails grazing her arm. Dhi’ab retaliated with a swift slash, but he dodged effortlessly. He was toying with her, testing her limits.

The eclipse reached its peak, and the pyramid began to glow with a fluorescent green light. The elixir, contained in a stone bowl at the pyramid’s entrance, started to shimmer. Nim’ur’s eyes flicked toward it, and Dhi’ab saw her chance. She charged at him, her blade aimed at his chest. But Nim’ur sidestepped and kicked her in the stomach, sending her crashing to the ground. Pain shot through her body, but she forced herself to stand. She couldn’t give up. Not now.

Nim’ur laughed, a cold, cruel sound. “Is this all you’ve got?” His words ignited a fire within her. Dhi’ab screamed and attacked with renewed fury. Her blade clashed against his nails, sparks flying with each strike. She pushed him back, her movements a whirlwind of rage and determination.
But Nim’ur was relentless. He countered her attacks with brutal efficiency, each strike precise, each move calculated. With a savage kick, he sent her sprawling across the cold ground. She tumbled, breathless, until she landed near a familiar blade—the very sword that had ended her mother’s life. She noticed the sword, suddenly the world faded. Darkness swallowed her. She was no longer in battle—she was back in that night. The lifeless body. The blood pooling beneath her mother. The unbearable pain

The eclipse was at its peak, as if even the moon itself refused to witness Dhi’ab’s failure. Fluorescent rays bathed the pyramid, making it glow with an eerie brilliance, and the Elixir shimmered in response. Nim’ur stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he noticed Dhi’ab lying motionless on the ground. A cruel smile twisted his lips. "Last time, your mother stopped me from achieving my goal," he murmured mockingly. "This time, you can't stop me, child. You are not strong enough—not even at your mother's level." Turning towards the Elixir, he reached for the bowl. The magic was at its peak—ten more seconds, and it would fade.

Dhi’ab's fingers twitched. Her vision blurred with pain, but her resolve burned stronger than ever. She saw him lifting the bowl to his lips. If she didn’t act now, everything—her life, her promise, her purpose have no meaning at all. With a final surge of strength, she grasped the sword that still bore the dried blood of her mother, a wound unhealed for thirteen years. She shifted her position, steadying her breath. Then, with a warrior’s precision, she hurled the sword. It sliced through the air, spinning like fate itself, and struck Nim’ur just as the Elixir touched his lips. The blade buried deep into his right chest. His body jerked backward, and the bowl slipped from his grasp, tumbling to the ground.

His eyes widened in shock. Frustration twisted his face as he choked out, "Not again... No! Not again!" He felt no pain—only rage. Gritting his teeth, he yanked the sword from his chest, his gaze locking onto Dhi’ab with seething fury. "I will send you where I sent your mother," he snarled. "And this time, I will make sure there is no one left to stop us." He charged.

Dhi’ab gripped her blade, her body drenched in blood, her own and her mother’s past merging into one. With a war cry that echoed through the night, she lunged at Nim’ur. Their swords clashed, sending sparks flying into the abyss. The force of their strikes made the earth tremble. Even the moon, hiding behind the eclipse, peeked out to witness the battle.

For fifteen relentless minutes, their blades danced in a furious storm. Nim’ur began to tire, his attacks slowing. But Dhi’ab? She fought like a woman with nothing left to lose. This was her only purpose. Her only destiny. Memories flashed through her mind—her promise, her mother’s death, her mother’s smile.

With a sudden, graceful spin, she dodged Nim’ur’s desperate slash. And then she struck.

Her blade plunged into his left chest, cutting deep into the heart. Nim’ur gasped, his strength faltering. But Dhi’ab wasn’t done. With a final, bone-chilling howl one that carried the fury of an Alpha wolf she tore the blade free and drove it into his heart once more.

Nim’ur staggered back, his eyes wide with shock. He looked down at the blade embedded in his chest, then up at Dhi’ab. “You… you think this is over?” he gasped, blood trickling from his lips. “The cycle… never ends.”

He collapsed to his knees, then fell face-first into the sand. Dhi’ab stood over him, her breath ragged, her body trembling with exhaustion. She had done it. She had avenged her mother.

But as she turned to leave, she heard a cry. A young boy, no older than eight, ran to Nim’ur’s side, tears streaming down his face. “Father!” he screamed, his voice filled with anguish.

Dhi’ab froze. The boy’s face was a mirror of her own at that age, filled with pain and rage. He picked up the sword and turned to her, his eyes burning with hatred.

In that moment, Dhi’ab understood. The cycle of vengeance was not over. It had only begun anew. She looked at the boy, her heart heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “One day, you will understand.”

As she walked away, the pyramid’s glow faded, and the desert wind began to howl once more. The eclipse was over, but the scars it left behind would never heal.