╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

Her heart pounded in her chest as the deafening sound of bullets whizzed around her. Dirt smudged her face as she slid down a sand dune, reaching for a discarded gun. She ran past where Mal’s body lied, stiff and pale. The sand around her was speckled with red, being colored with the blood from her throat.

Wiping tears and sand from her face, Ash crawled back up the dune. Her face covering was torn and dirtied, sand littered her hair and stuck to her sweaty skin. She didn’t have much time before she would fall, too, body being buried by the sand as the wind blew.

Her hand reached into the pocket of her dusty pants, feeling the smooth scarab in her pocket. Staggering up, Ash held the scarab in the air. “Hey!” she screamed, pointing the gun at the rampant man, who was furiously thowing sand around, looking for something. The man’s head whipped in her direction, eyes set on the gold scarab. He got off his knees, holding his hand out for the scarab.

From behind the man, Ash could see a dying man, dragging himself into a stone memorial, leaving a trail of blood behind. Marc Spector was his name. He’s the reason she was surrounded by piles of corpses and the smell of blood filling her nose.

“Give me the scarab,” the man ordered, still holding his hand out for it. He stumbled over sand and bodies, one hand kept by his side. Ash didn’t budge, keeping her hand in the air. “Give it!”

Ash swallowed, squeezing the trigger of the gun once the man stepped a little too close. The gun clicked, but no shot was fired. It was jammed. Ash threw the gun to the side, closing her fist around the scarab. “Come take it,” she threatened.

The man ran to her, raising the hand kept at his side in the air. A blood covered machete sliced through the air, headed right for Ash’s throat.

With a grunt, Ash leaned back, grabbing the man’s armed hand. Forcing the weapon out of the man’s hand onto the sand, she shoved the palm of her hand into his throat. She kicked him, sending him tripping over someone’s body. Breathless, Ash leaned to the ground, picking up the machete. She made the mistake of picking it up blade first, crimson coating her fingertips.

Ash sucked in a breath as flashes from the body the blood belonged to filled her eyesight. She knew that scarf anywhere. Dr. El Faouly; her friend.

On the outside, the man stood, seeing Ash just standing there, staring at the machete and her bloodied hand. His eyebrows furrowed, but quickly faded as he realized the woman was distracted.

“Who killed my father?” a distorted voice echoed. Ash looked up from the machete, finding herself alone. No bodies, no blood, no bullets. The sand made gentle ripples as the wind blew. She turned around, seeing nothing but the moon shining over the Great Pyramids. “Who?!”  The voice echoed again. Ash turned her head in the direction of the voice.

It was a woman. A shadow was cast over her face, but she had curly hair, pulled back in a low ponytail. Her hands were in fists by her sides as she stood a few feet away from Ash in the sand. “It was you, wasn’t it?” the woman asked.

“No- no, I didn’t!” Ash stammered, trying to explain as the woman continued to blame her. The woman yelled at her, wanting to know what happened to her father. Ash stepped back as the very angry woman walked toward her.

“Layla,” another voice called. It was a male voice, a British one. He ran after the woman as the woman charged at Ash. “Layla, no!”

Ash was weak, her strength decreasing the longer she fought to stay alive. The longest she’d ever gone without the other two halves of herself was a day, and she was sure she was reaching that mark. Time seemed to slow as she looked for any way to avoid the oncoming attacks from a shadow-faced Layla.

But as soon as the woman got close enough, she disappeared, turning to smoke. Ash looked around for her again, but no one was there, she was alone again. Blood pouring onto Ash’s hands brought her back to reality. The man was standing in front of her, blood dribbling out of his mouth. His eyes were wide, starting to glaze over. Ash looked down at her hands, seeing the machete deep in the man’s stomach, going through to the other side.

She quickly let go of the weapon, stepping out of the way, letting him stumble down the dune where he was succumb to his injuries.

The wind picked up around her, sending sand spiraling around her. Her hand instinctively went over her eyes, momentarily ignoring someone’s DNA dripping from her fingers. Lights flashed from the memorial Marc had dragged himself into, half-dead.

She couldn’t see much through the sand whirling around her, but she could se glowing white eyes growing closer to her. A strong kick to the ribs threw her on her back out of the sandstorm. She was sure she heard a few of her ribs snap as she landed on the sand.

A hooded, white figure, wrapped in bandages and a moon symbol on his chest, stepped out of the tornado of sand, two moon-shaped daggers in his hands. Ash sat up on her elbows as the figure approached her.

Acting quickly, Ash kicked the man’s knee in, making him stumble back. She pushed herself up, preparing herself for a fight. Her vision doubled and she stumbled over onto the sand, feeling bile crawl up her throat. She finally got the chance to figure out what that snap was, because it became clear to her that it wasn’t her ribs.

She looked down at her chest, seeing a blood covered crescent shape sticking out of it. Her healing factor was gone, and so was her back up. The bile shot out of her mouth, only for her to realize that it was her own blood she was coughing up.

She did her best to crawl away in a pathetic attempt to escape the hooded figure. Ash was turned over on her back, being lifted by her neck. She caught a glimpse of a very tall man, also wrapped in dirty bandages. But in place of a human head, was that of a bird skull. In his hand, a large staff, embellished with a crescent shape. “I thought I eradicated your kind,” the deep, echoed voice vibrated through Ash’s body.

“That isn’t possible,” Ash spat through gasps for air.

“We shall see,” the figure said. Before Ash could even get a word out, her eyes widened as a sharp gasp left her mouth. She was dropped on the sand, being left to bleed out by the caped figure and the larger figure by his side.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Well, this chapter was fun to write!
How do you think Marc will react when Ash comes back?

   I'm gonna try to stretch these chapters out since there will only be six episodes of Moon Knight, so we're not even on the first episode yet.

   Let me know what you think in the comments!