The rave was a living, breathing monster.
Bass thumped through the ground like a second heartbeat, louder than thunder, deeper than thought.
Neon lights painted the darkness in electric streaks of pink, blue, and acid green, pulsing in time with the hypnotic rhythm.
Smoke machines hissed and coiled through the crowd like mist from a dragon's breath.
Everyone danced like they were trying to escape gravity itself, lost in the ecstasy of sound, sweat, and skin.
Bodies meshed with bodies, all glitter, heat, and pheromones.
And then, like a divine force parting the chaos, they moved. The crowd split, slowly, reverently, like the Red Sea.
The queen had arrived.
This was her jungle. Her temple. Her battlefield.
REXAN strutted in hips swaying, a sin made flesh. She wore a microscopic silver miniskirt made of holographic thread that shimmered with every curve.
Her matching panties peeked through with each calculated step.
A glitter-drenched bra top clung to her like second skin, pushing her cleavage high and proud.
Silver cowboy boots with rhinestone stars stomped to the beat, and her matching cowboy hat sat tilted low over her brow, sparkling under the strobe lights like a crown for a goddess who knew exactly who she was.
Her hair was a lush golden waterfall that cascaded past her shoulders in loose waves, shimmering with hints of platinum.
Her eyes, those unforgettable blonde-brown irises, glowed like molten honey laced with wildfire, smudged in smoky shadow and lined razor-sharp with glitter gold eyeliner.
Her lips were a pout of glossy cherry red, her cheekbones carved like they were kissed by divine sculptors.
Every head turned.
She was worshipped without needing an altar.
The music pumped in her veins like liquid fire as she made her way to a glowing pod stationed near the edge of the dancefloor.
At this rave, drinks weren't served at traditional bars...they were served at pulse pods: small, circular neon stands manned by rave mixologists and scattered strategically through the party like electric islands.
She leaned on the counter, the lights casting wild shapes across her glowing skin.
The person behind the pod turned, wearing low-slung ripped jeans and a mesh net top that hugged every muscle like a promise.
Rexan's eyes drank in the narrow waist, broad chest, and perfect jawline.
She bit her bottom lip. "Hi there."
The figure smirked, an eyebrow arching in sultry amusement.
That voice, husky, warm, and teasing, was unmistakably feminine. "What can I get you, cupcake?"
Rexan blinked. Damn. That wasn't just a woman. That was a dream carved in obsidian.
She smiled wide, chest puffed forward, cleavage catching the light like a trap. "Give me a Velvet Inferno," she purred.
The woman whistled low and got to work. A Velvet Inferno was no joke, three layers of spiced rum, blood-orange liqueur, and a splash of something secret that lit your soul on fire.
The drink glowed violet as it slid across the glass pod.
Their fingers brushed. Electricity.
Rexan didn't break eye contact as she lifted the glass to her lips.
She took a slow sip, letting some of it spill intentionally over her lower lip and down her throat, trailing straight into her cleavage like liquid temptation.
The woman licked her lips, entranced.
She didn't see the hand until it was too late.
Rexan blinked. The woman's skull, once full of lust and life, was split clean in half. Her face was frozen mid-smirk, eyes lifeless.
A creature crouched before her on the pulse pod, its skin translucent and wet, as though it had just clawed out of something rotting.
It dug into the woman's skull with sickening clicks, feeding hungrily, black ooze dripping from its gaping mouth.
Then its head twisted.
Not turned...twisted. A full 360 degrees, bones cracking, tendons snapping.
Its eyes...milky, lidless...locked on Rexan.
And it spoke.
"You, Highness...we've come to save you."
Its voice was wet, unnatural, echoing in a language she didn't know but understood.
Before her heart could react, a bullet slammed through the creature's temple.
The shot echoed like a curse, splattering brains and black blood across Rexan's face. She staggered backward, drenched in gore, trembling.
Her scream broke the rhythm of the rave.
Then another scream.
And another.
Lights shattered. People shrieked. Someone burst into flames. The beat fell apart in glitching echoes, replaced by chaos...shattering glass, cracking bones, bodies hitting the ground.
Zombies, poured from the shadows. Clawed, gnarled, some still wearing rave gear, others naked and raw with pulsing muscle.
A girl tripped and was dragged into the mist.
A man ripped off his own face before lunging at a dancer.
The rave turned to hell.
Rexan stood frozen, the creature's blood dripping from her lashes.
The last thing she heard before the lights fully died was someone whispering her name, and not in worship, in fear.
The apocalypse had arrived.
And she was to lead it.