Dara, Page, and the Secrets of the Multiverse

▷ 7.4

In a sane world, running around with a dead man on their tail was the stuff of films. Not for Dara, though. Perhaps he had gone insane after his plane crashed and he got stranded in a cursed mountain. Perhaps none of this was real, and that Dara was still stuck in the mountain, hallucinating his days away.

Was this what the tourist guide warned him about? Then again, the tourist guide didn't really warn him about anything, just that the whole temple and the expedition was dangerous. And what was the other thing? Ah. not many who sought Thynesenoi's treasure walked out alive.

The Dead looked plenty alive to Dara, though.

Dara's breaths heaved as he rounded a pillar and whipped the gun from his belt. His back dug against the rough limestone. The person ambled forward, surprisingly agile despite its...condition. One glance past the curvature told him the person was drawing closer. Never mind the noisy clacks of bones, the loud squelch of rotting flesh, or the twisted shadows creeping across the floor.

It was a man, that much was obvious. A boonie hat dangled in its v-shaped string behind the man's neck, bouncing against the back of a torn bomber jacket. Dusty khaki pants hung over swollen legs, rustling with every hobbling step. The skin peeled in several places. The eyeballs rattled inside the sockets. Maggots settled inside various colonies in the cheekbones, the nose, and the neck. Who knew how many more were there underneath the clothes?

As the smell of rot wafted closer to Dara's nose, he whipped around the pillar, training his gun forward. The trigger clicked. A shot rang in the air. The bullet sailed in a split second and embedded itself into the man's chest. The force threw it back, and the recoil jarred Dara's shoulder away from the pillar. As the corpse stumbled to the ground, a faint chink echoed underneath the folds of its jacket. Before Dara's eyes, a similar ring-on-a-chain glinted against the shafts of fading sunlight bathing the temple floor with pale gold beams. It resembled the one hanging on Dara's neck which made one thing clear.

Page.

A curse flew out of Dara's lips, masking the growing grief in his gut. It snuffed out when the corpse recovered the initial shock and resolved to crawl forward. Dara's heart leaped to his throat, his feet scrambling to get him anywhere as long as it was miles from this bumbling nightmare. Even if this was Page, it didn't feel like him. Not anymore.

Dara glanced at the streams of sunlight bleeding between the pillars and the temple's foyer. How far was it to the valley? He couldn't let Page chase him all the way to the city. What would happen if the Dead found its way there? Perhaps it was like the films, where one bite or touch spread the condition. Dara didn't want to test that theory nor did he want to kill people off just to prove a point.

Besides, Page needed a proper send-off. Wandering the temple as a corpse wasn't going to cut it. There was a chance this thing was reversible, and Dara wasn't going to throw that out the window. Then again, if Page was alive, he wouldn't be able to stand up long after Dara shot him.

That was just Dara's thoughts being in denial, hoping his last moment with Page was of them fighting over this shit temple and even shittier diagnosis.

Dara glanced at the cracks. Chunks from the walls, the ceiling, and some of the pillars already littered the floor. He looked back to find the corpse only a few steps away. Then, his eyes landed on the twinkling thing on the corpse's hand. A breath escaped his lips. No way in hell.

The artifact.

An idea popped into his mind. He swiveled away, rushing towards the stairs. He pumped his legs despite the numerous aches growing in his body. Better do it now when he still could. His boots slapped the dusty steps, bringing more depth and distance between him and the corpse.

As expected, the corpse's coordination skills were off. Before it tumbled off to the unguarded side, Dara aimed for the glinting gem tucked between the corpse's fingers. Shoot that off? Page would go back to normal.

Let him hope it was the case.

His finger squeezed the trigger. Another gunshot peeled in the air. The gem flew into open space, clunking in decreasing intervals before easing into a roll. Then, silence.

The corpse, now back to being Page, tumbled forward. Without the artifact's influence, the corpse flopped against the steps, edging backwards until it sagged against the stair's last step. Dara ran down, tears stinging his eyes. When he got to Page, it only confirmed what he dreaded.

Page was dead. The artifact could have granted him eternal life, but it wasn't the life he wanted nor expected. In the end, the man in the hut was right. There were magical things left in this world, but most of them have prices to pay. Prices which were too great. Irreversible sacrifices which Dara shouldn't have let Page make.

And for what? Dara wasn't any better. If anything, he was more battered. Had he stayed put, had he waited for Page to return, he would be in the apartment, waiting for a man who wouldn't ever come home.

Dara didn't bother wiping his tears nor caging his sobs as he eased Page on a flat surface. Two years. They could have enjoyed two more years, and Dara would have been fine with that. Page couldn't accept that, and now, they've got to spend less together. What was he supposed to feel about that?

He checked the gun's chambers. Then, he pointed it to where the artifact lay. A harmless, polished cut of diamond embedded into an ornamental golden brace stared up at him. Curses or not, it was bound to cause more harm than good. The artifact took more than it gave, and Dara wasn't going to let that slide. He fired.

By the time the smoke cleared and the smell of burned gunpowder wafted away, useless shards lay on the floor. Maybe the curse has long gone, or it split into as many shards as possible. Dara wasn't really interested to find out. He glanced at Page's body on the floor. First, a grave. Then, home.

"Okay, then," Dara muttered against the lump of feelings lodged in his throat. "Onwards."