Egypt, 1938. A dig site in the Siwa Oasis collapses beneath a blood-red sunset. Workers scream as sand pours into the trench like water. A young archaeologist, Professor Ramy El-Sahri, crawls out—his body covered in blistered boils, eyes wide, lips muttering ancient prayers. Clutched in his hand is a jet-black scorpion-shaped mask, its obsidian sheen catching firelight. He dies moments later—grinning.
Cut to London, 1953. Indiana Jones stands before a museum board, arguing that a recent string of unexplained deaths tied to ancient relics isn’t coincidence. Lydia Kessler interrupts the board with urgency—a letter from Cairo, delivered in code: “The sting has begun. Return. The goddess walks.”
Indy and Lydia land in Cairo to find Professor Sahri’s body stolen, his notes scattered, and the Mask of Serqet missing. Serqet—the lesser-known Egyptian goddess of venom, death, and resurrection—was said to grant invulnerability to those she favored and eternal torment to those she marked. The mask, according to Sahri’s notes, was not ceremonial. It was a key.
Rumors swirl of a cult calling themselves The Blood of Serqet, active in the Valley of Whispers, near a forbidden tomb closed since the time of Ramses II. Indy and Lydia travel by camel through a brutal sandstorm, encountering a wandering Bedouin seer who’s blind from staring at the sun too long. He tells Indy, “To wear the mask is to hear her whisper. And whispers are never yours alone.”
Inside a buried temple, they find murals of serpent-headed priests offering up their flesh to a great black scorpion. The deeper they go, the hotter it becomes—not from outside, but as if the stone itself is breathing. Indy finds a canopic jar filled with venom, sealed with Serqet’s sigil. The jar cracks when he touches it. Lydia begins coughing blood.
That night, strange dreams haunt them both. Lydia sees herself flayed and reborn in black silk. Indy dreams of Marion, buried in sand, whispering in Egyptian. He wakes with scorpion stings on his arm.
They track the cult to a ruined Nubian fortress now acting as a black market auction house. There, Nazim Bey, a wealthy Egyptian mystic and former SS collaborator, displays the Mask of Serqet on a velvet throne—its obsidian body now fused with human bone. Nazim claims the mask speaks. That once worn, it grants a voice beyond time. A voice of vengeance. Of queens lost in sand. Of gods who never died.
Indy tries to steal it that night—but is caught and forced into a duel with Nazim’s enforcer: a mute giant covered in ritual scars. During the battle, Indy knocks the mask from its display… and it screams. Everyone freezes. The giant convulses and drops dead, his veins turning black in seconds.
Nazim flees with the mask toward the forgotten necropolis of Abal-Gur, where the Cult believes Serqet’s final ritual of binding can be completed. Indy, Lydia, and a reluctant local tomb raider named Zayd give chase.
The necropolis is buried beneath cliffs and jagged rocks. Carvings on the walls depict men with hollow faces worshipping a scorpion goddess with a human mouth. Beneath the complex lies a sarcophagus made of pure glass, filled with hundreds of live scorpions—and bones of an ancient queen wearing a crude version of the same mask.
Nazim dons the real Mask of Serqet. As it latches to his face, it pierces his skull. His screams turn to laughter. He begins speaking in multiple voices—male, female, inhuman. The venom in his veins glows like molten gold. The dead begin to rise—reanimated priests with stingers for hands and no eyes.
Indy fights through the swarm with Zayd while Lydia deciphers the temple carvings. The only way to destroy the mask is to seal it in the blood of the one it’s marked—and Indy’s arm still carries the sting. He grabs the mask off Nazim mid-chant, but the venom floods into him, distorting his vision, slowing his heartbeat.
With his last ounce of will, Jones throws himself into the scorpion pit, clutching the mask and a vial of cursed Nile water. The pit erupts with flames. Screams echo—dozens of voices, then silence.
Lydia pulls Indy out, barely alive, his skin bruised black and purple. He breathes shallowly. She injects a serum she’d hidden in her satchel—derived from the ancient antidote formula buried in Sahri’s notes. He gasps back to life. His eyes flutter open.
“Tell me we’re never doing Egypt again.”
They bury the mask in a forgotten shaft and seal it with molten tar, covering it with false inscriptions. The desert takes it back.
Weeks later, back at Marshall College, Indy finds a scorpion waiting on his desk. Not moving. Just… watching.
He crushes it with a book. But his finger bleeds. Just a little.
Cut to London, 1953. Indiana Jones stands before a museum board, arguing that a recent string of unexplained deaths tied to ancient relics isn’t coincidence. Lydia Kessler interrupts the board with urgency—a letter from Cairo, delivered in code: “The sting has begun. Return. The goddess walks.”
Indy and Lydia land in Cairo to find Professor Sahri’s body stolen, his notes scattered, and the Mask of Serqet missing. Serqet—the lesser-known Egyptian goddess of venom, death, and resurrection—was said to grant invulnerability to those she favored and eternal torment to those she marked. The mask, according to Sahri’s notes, was not ceremonial. It was a key.
Rumors swirl of a cult calling themselves The Blood of Serqet, active in the Valley of Whispers, near a forbidden tomb closed since the time of Ramses II. Indy and Lydia travel by camel through a brutal sandstorm, encountering a wandering Bedouin seer who’s blind from staring at the sun too long. He tells Indy, “To wear the mask is to hear her whisper. And whispers are never yours alone.”
Inside a buried temple, they find murals of serpent-headed priests offering up their flesh to a great black scorpion. The deeper they go, the hotter it becomes—not from outside, but as if the stone itself is breathing. Indy finds a canopic jar filled with venom, sealed with Serqet’s sigil. The jar cracks when he touches it. Lydia begins coughing blood.
That night, strange dreams haunt them both. Lydia sees herself flayed and reborn in black silk. Indy dreams of Marion, buried in sand, whispering in Egyptian. He wakes with scorpion stings on his arm.
They track the cult to a ruined Nubian fortress now acting as a black market auction house. There, Nazim Bey, a wealthy Egyptian mystic and former SS collaborator, displays the Mask of Serqet on a velvet throne—its obsidian body now fused with human bone. Nazim claims the mask speaks. That once worn, it grants a voice beyond time. A voice of vengeance. Of queens lost in sand. Of gods who never died.
Indy tries to steal it that night—but is caught and forced into a duel with Nazim’s enforcer: a mute giant covered in ritual scars. During the battle, Indy knocks the mask from its display… and it screams. Everyone freezes. The giant convulses and drops dead, his veins turning black in seconds.
Nazim flees with the mask toward the forgotten necropolis of Abal-Gur, where the Cult believes Serqet’s final ritual of binding can be completed. Indy, Lydia, and a reluctant local tomb raider named Zayd give chase.
The necropolis is buried beneath cliffs and jagged rocks. Carvings on the walls depict men with hollow faces worshipping a scorpion goddess with a human mouth. Beneath the complex lies a sarcophagus made of pure glass, filled with hundreds of live scorpions—and bones of an ancient queen wearing a crude version of the same mask.
Nazim dons the real Mask of Serqet. As it latches to his face, it pierces his skull. His screams turn to laughter. He begins speaking in multiple voices—male, female, inhuman. The venom in his veins glows like molten gold. The dead begin to rise—reanimated priests with stingers for hands and no eyes.
Indy fights through the swarm with Zayd while Lydia deciphers the temple carvings. The only way to destroy the mask is to seal it in the blood of the one it’s marked—and Indy’s arm still carries the sting. He grabs the mask off Nazim mid-chant, but the venom floods into him, distorting his vision, slowing his heartbeat.
With his last ounce of will, Jones throws himself into the scorpion pit, clutching the mask and a vial of cursed Nile water. The pit erupts with flames. Screams echo—dozens of voices, then silence.
Lydia pulls Indy out, barely alive, his skin bruised black and purple. He breathes shallowly. She injects a serum she’d hidden in her satchel—derived from the ancient antidote formula buried in Sahri’s notes. He gasps back to life. His eyes flutter open.
“Tell me we’re never doing Egypt again.”
They bury the mask in a forgotten shaft and seal it with molten tar, covering it with false inscriptions. The desert takes it back.
Weeks later, back at Marshall College, Indy finds a scorpion waiting on his desk. Not moving. Just… watching.
He crushes it with a book. But his finger bleeds. Just a little.
