Chapter Text
“I’VE FOUND IT, ENJOLRAS! I’VE FOUND IT!”
Grantaire watched from the safety of the shadows as Courfeyrac burst into the room, at the top of the staircase at the opposite end of from where he was crouched behind a boulder, waving around the golden Book of Amun-Ra in his hands, Combeferre hot on his heels, right in the nick of time. Imhotep halted just as the tip of his blade would’ve torn through Enjolras’ flesh and rendered him…
He shook his head frantically. No. He would not think about associating the d-word anywhere near Enjolras’ name. On the table, Enjolras laid still, seemingly having lost consciousness out of fear. Shaking off the urge to simply run to his side, and run his sword through Imhotep right then and there, Grantaire slowly drew his blade as the Mummy turned to look at Courfeyrac standing perched on a ledge far above them. Abandoning his blade and post over Enjolras, Imhotep quietly muttered and began to ascend the stairs.
“OH SHIT!” Courfeyrac and Combeferre swivelled on their heels and turned to run down the hall. Seizing his chance, Grantaire stalked closer towards the golden figure lying shackled on the table, surrounded on all sides by Imhotep's priests, breaking into a run as he leapt into the air and brought the sword down upon the left chain encircling Enjolras’ wrist, the metal bursting apart with a loud bam! Inwardly, he winced as he remembered the fact that Enjolras' left wrist was still healing.
A screech from behind had him swivelling on his heel and swinging his sword blindly. A burst of dust and a scream informed him that his sword had hit its mark as one of the priests crumpled to the ground, body sawed in half. He panted as he exerted every last bit of energy into his swings. The priests, evidently, would be having none of his behaviour, and they all charged at him at once.
Shit. Well, let’s do this then.
Twisting on his heel, he sliced his blade through another priest, doubling over in a coughing fit when it burst into dust all over him. But he didn't have much time to recover as the mummies kept coming. Swinging every-which-way, he hacked and sliced and thrust and damn were his eyes starting to burn from all this dust—
Something wrapped around his neck as his breath supply cut off, drawing a choke from him, allowing the rest of the mummies to circle closer. Wildly, he swung with his free hand and grappled with what looked like an arm around his neck. Grunting, he pried the arm off, spinning and throwing the mummy far from him. With his right he swung and his left he curled into a fist, throwing as powerful a punch he could muster in his situation. From the side, something gripped him, and he delivered a swift kick, sending yet another priest hurtling through the air, taking care of most of the mummies for now and why the fuck were there so many, his arms were beginning to tire and there were still so many, just keep swinging and swinging and swinging and—
“GET THE FUCK OFF ME!”
ENJOLRAS!
The sound of rattling chains and a distinctly human scream had him turning around urgently as he slashed his blade through a priest wrestling with Enjolras atop the table. Enjolras looked at him frantically while he strained against the binds that still cuffed him by his right.
"Grantaire! Get these things off me!" He gave Enjolras a dashing smile as he gestured to their surroundings, the priest mummies seemingly taken care of.
"It's okay, Enjolras, don't panic. Here," he raised his blade, ready to strike at the metal, leaning forward, when something dusty and crumbly and definitely not human grabbed him by the ankles and pulled him down to the ground, eliciting a yelp of surprise from his lips and causing him to drop his sword with a clang.
"Grantaire!"
He rolled on his back and glanced down to see an undead priest pull at him by the legs. Why won't these damn things just die?
His back flared up with pain as the priest yanked harshly on him. To his side he could spot his sword, right by his head. Flinging out a hand, he found that he couldn’t reach it, goddamnit, it was so close, just out of reach!
Grunting, he stuck out his arms once more, straining for the blade. Above him, Enjolras continued his battle against his chains.
“Shit!” panted Enjolras. “Shit! Grantaire!”
He really did want to offer up some reassurance but instead let out a strangled gasp as another mummy dove forward while he tried to sit up and wrapped its arms around his, choking him once more. Kicking his legs and throwing his arms behind to try and throw off the priest choking him, he thrashed about, red faced and gasping, trying to breathe, and trying to these creatures from fucking hell off of him.
Still struggling above, Enjolras gasped, “Oh — Oh shit! Grantaire!”
Grantaire would have really liked to snap at Enjolras that he had already said that, but then he raised his head and he felt the blood drain from his face as he saw what Enjolras was gasping at.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.
At the sight of yet another priest approaching —why were there so many?— this one with a large stone tablet raised up in its arms that Grantaire had absolutely no need of wondering what it would be used for, he doubled the strength with which he thrashed, kicking his legs with a new force. Forgoing the fight with the mummy that caught him in a chokehold and instead deciding to try and breathe through his chokes, he strained and strained his arm to the point that he thought he would pull a muscle, trying to reach his sword and goddamnit it was so close, so goddamn close, all he needed was a—a—anything, anything that would give him that one extra inch—
And there it was! He never thought he would be grateful for it, but he was really feeling glad when a chopped off mummy hand started inching its way towards his sword, no doubt hoping to grab it.
The hand wormed its way closer. All Grantaire had to do was reach for it, wait and reach, and try to just breathe, he was feeling so dangerously faint, and in his peripheral, the mummy wielding the tablet was getting closer and closer —
The world was starting to go hazy as he let out an anguished cry. He had to breathe, he was still writhing on the ground, the two mummies keeping their strong, unrelenting grip on his legs and his head. In the distance, gunshots rang out, there was the sound of footsteps pounding on the ground —Combeferre and Courfeyrac must have been chased back into the chamber— and Enjolras was still trying to pull free, letting out frustrated cries, one that cut off into scream — “GRANTAIRE!”
The mummy above him raised the tablet, and began to swing its arms down to bring the tablet to a crash over his head, but Grantaire, choking for air, his muscles beginning to tire still waited that one last second and —
The chopped mummy hand dove for the hilt of his sword and grasped its hand around it and as it did, Grantaire let out one last burst of energy as he strained once more and grabbed the mummy hand by the forearm and used it to turn and slice quick and clean through the mummy holding the tablet. With a great shriek, the priest fell backwards, taking the tablet with him and crushing himself rather than Grantaire.
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“Enjolras what do I do?” Courfeyrac yelled frantically as he and Combeferre darted across the room, pursued by the creature.
From where he was still bound in chains, his brother strained against his shackles while crying, “Open the book, Courfeyrac! Open the book! That’s the only way to kill him!”
Courfeyrac glanced down at the book in his hands. Open the book? he thought wildly. Did Enjolras really think he was stupid enough to not attempt that before? Of course he tried to open the book, but it wouldn’t open to any of the pages he had seen the Mummy use before. He had been desperately trying to pry the book open to the part of it they needed. What did he think he had been doing all this time?
“I can’t! It won’t open to that part of it!” he yelled.
“That’s because you need the key!” Enjolras called back from where he was still struggling with his chains.
The mummy, having heard, grinned and took the key from around his neck —the puzzle box! Of course it was the puzzle box!— and stuffed it in his pocket.
Well that complicated matters.
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Enjolras watched as Grantaire groaned where he was on the ground.
“Grantaire! Grantaire!” he rattled his chains once more in reminder, watching in panic as Combeferre let out another three bursts of gunfire, blowing the priests that stood in there way while he and Courfeyrac ran, pursued by Imhotep.
Grantaire let out a gasp, as if he suddenly remembered something very important. “Enjolras!”
Shaking his head frantically, he responded, “Yes, it’s me, now get me out of this thing!”
Leaping to his feet, Grantaire raised his sword and finally, finally, he brought it down the shackles encircling his right wrist. The metal burst apart, finally relieving his wrist of the pressure, but unfortunately, still marking it up in a bruised purple.
With two hands on his waist, Grantaire lifted him off the table and back down to the ground, giving him a second to readjust being back on his feet before taking him by the wrist and tugging him to run.
While they too broke out in a run towards where his brother and the Professor seemed to be heading, he yelled, "Courfeyrac! Courfeyrac! Read the inscription on the book!"
"What!" Courf screamed as he veered left out of the way of another priest.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
"The inscription on the cover! Read it!"
The sound of his voice echoing through the chamber looked to be both good news and bad news as Imhotep, having heard, turned away from Courfeyrac and Combeferre leaving them to grapple with and inspect the hieratics without as much worry, but also turning his gaze towards where Enjolras and Grantaire now stood, the sacrifice he was going to use to bring back his dead lover now free.
“Well this just keeps getting better and better,” Grantaire muttered as he tugged once more on his hand and forced them into a run away from where Imhotep was now stalking towards them.
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“Hurry the fuck up, Courfeyrac!” Combeferre hissed frantically.
“I’m reading, I’m reading!” he hissed back, equally as panicked.
While his eyes remained firmly glued to the cover of the book in front of him, he could hear ragged breaths, pounding footfall, and rapid gunshots as Enjolras and Grantaire both ran from the Mummy.
“Courfeyrac!” Combeferre urged again.
“Yes I know!” he snapped.
BANG
BANG
BANG!
“STAY THE HELL BACK, BUDDY!”
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Somewhere in the distance, three shrill shrieks sounded themselves, and Courfeyrac could barely hear his own thoughts over his erratic heartbeat and heavy breaths.
“Uh, uh,” he muttered frantically, trying to decipher the hieratics.
“KEEP RUNNING!”
“Courfeyrac!”
Somewhere in the distance, Enjolras screamed, and Courfeyrac’s heart leaped in his throat as his brain raced twice as fast to translate.
“Rash — rasheem — rasheem ulla…”
“ENJOLRAS, NO!”
“GRANTAIRE!”
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
“Courfeyrac!” Combeferre screamed this time. He dared a quick glance up as Combeferre tugged on his hand and hurled him to the side, where a priest was now flying through the air, having dove for him. Raising his hand fast, Combeferre spun his pistol and fired. The priest screamed and burst into dust.
With new panic, Courfeyrac glanced back at the last bit of the hieratic.
Enjolras screamed again, this time more panicked and fearful, and Courfeyrac, having finally understood the words, bellowed, “Rasheem ulla cashka!”
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Crying out, Enjolras struggled against the grip of the Mummy, screaming as Imhotep gave a large pull and he felt himself ripped away from Grantaire.
“Rasheem ulla cashka!”
The Mummy’s grip slackened on his wrist as he spun, surprised at the spell Courfeyrac just cast. Seizing his chance, he ripped free of the creature’s hold and dashed back to where Grantaire now shoved him behind him and opened up his gun, firing while knowing the fact that it still wouldn’t do anything. The Mummy turned back to them, and Grantaire took hold of his hand once more and they broke out into a run.
Panting, Enjolras turned his head back —
But the Mummy wasn’t chasing them. He wasn’t moving at all. Instead, his eyes were fixed to the golden gates where Courfeyrac had entered from, and a moment later, when Grantaire tugged on his wrist hard to get him to stop and flung him behind him, he could see why.
The ground beneath them shook with a series of tremors as the golden doors burst open and ten new mummies — these ones evidently soldiers of the pharaoh, all armed with wickedly glinting spears and scythes — all marched inside the room.
Daring a glance back at the Mummy, Enjolras could see a small smile brew on his face.
In front of him, Grantaire lifted his sword up cautiously.
“You know,” he muttered to him, “I’ve found it’s always best to brace yourself for the worst possible outcome so you don’t end up disappointed by our shitty world. But this,” he gestured with his sword to the rank standing a few feet in front of them. “This is just ridiculous.”
Without taking his eyes off the soldiers, Enjolras called out, “Do something, Courfeyrac.” Grantaire began to back them up away slowly.
From where he stood with Combeferre, his brother called back incredulously, “Me?”
“Yes, you,” he grit out. “You can command them.” He dared a glance to the corner where Courfeyrac watched him with wide, disbelieving eyes.
“You have got to be joking,” he said, shaking his head. Enjolras resisted the urge to let out a noise of frustration.
“Finish the inscription on the cover, genius. Then you can control them.”
Pursing his lips, Courfeyrac nodded his lips. “Right. Right.” In his peripheral, Combeferre took Courfeyrac by the hand again. They rounded the corner once more as Courfeyrac began to try and read again.
Both he and Grantaire continued to back away slowly, fearful that any sudden movement may set the rank of soldiers after them. A little away from them, Imhotep too remained quiet and unmoving.
Then the world around Enjolras spun in blurry motion as Grantaire yelped and he felt his body slammed to the ground by a mummy, no not any mummy, the mummy of…
The mummy of Imhotep's beloved, who wielded a blade sharp enough to plunge into his heart and finish the job. Hurriedly, he scampered back as the Mummy's beloved — Metjen — towered over him, then stumbled up on his feet and broke out into a dash, his feet pounding the ground beneath him and his blood rushing in his ears. Behind him, Metjen let out a shrill shriek and gave chase, his blade held high in the air.
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"Shit! Enjolras!” Grantaire made to move towards him, but stopped in his tracks when Imhotep chanted something in Ancient Egyptian to the soldiers, sharply inclining his head towards —
Towards Grantaire.
Oh fuck. Of all people to gain control of the soldiers.
What was Courfeyrac doing?
With wide eyes, he watched as the soldiers all rounded on him, their blades glinting menacingly.
Never one to be outdone, he raised his own sword and screamed out, "AHHHHHHH!"
The mummy soldiers peered back at him, and let out their own, "AHHHHHHHH!"
Shit. Grantaire was in no mood to do this.
Shaking his head, he muttered, "Nuh-uh," turned, and bolted like mad away. Behind him, the ten soldiers all let out ear-grating battle cries, and, their bones rattling and weapons clanging, began to chase after him.
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He pushed himself harder and harder and harder, and yet it seemed as if Metjen was only gaining on him. Enjolras pushed off of pillars and rounded corners, constantly checking back and always seeing Metjen right there behind him, somehow always aware of where Enjolras was in this maze of pillars and pathways. It was a deadly game of hide-and-seek, and Enjolras was for sure losing, and he knew that if he was caught, what waited for him was not a simple round of Courfeyrac's tickles.
His heart pounded in his ears as he stumbled around another corner, head beginning to feel faint from all his running. Breathing raggedly, he turned to see if Metjen was still behind him. When Enjolras saw nothing there, he brought himself to a halt and doubled over, coughing and gasping for breath. A blade at the tip of his shoulder had him gasping once more, and, without thinking too much about it, he pulled away quick and dove away, breaking into a dead sprint, ignoring the sear of pain as the movement caused the tip of the blade to slice across his shoulder and set Metjen behind him once more.
Head spinning, he screamed, "Courfeyrac! Finish the inscription already!"
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There! There, a rope and a dead weight! If he latched on and cut it, he could —
A burst of pain coursed through his veins and he let out a shout when he felt a sword slash him across his back. Shit. The soldiers were getting closer, their swords tips were right at his back.
He dashed across a shallow puddle of water, boots splashing and threatening to make him slip and fall. Agony laced through his skin once more as he felt a second slash criss-crossing with the first cut itself down his back as a soldier screamed in victory, but jokes on them because Grantaire was close, so close, almost there—
Diving for the rope, he struck it and felt the wind in his hair as the rope shot him up sharply in the air away from the soldiers, and on the other end, the dead weight sacks of sand landed on one of the mummy soldiers.
Swinging wildly in the air, he let go and landed on the other side of the room, his feet screaming when he crashed on the ground. He had no time to complain about it, though, as he pushed himself to run towards the doorway, his sword still in hand. He ran through the opening.
And promptly turned back, screaming and bolting inside the room once more as he was chased by another five mummy soldiers all waving their weapons at him and shrieking. He scampered down the stairs, not daring to slow himself down by glancing behind him, jumping down the last five, raising his sword in caution, and only then stopping to check behind himself.
The soldiers were gone. He let out a sigh of relief and turned once more.
And then he screamed again. As he found himself face-to-face with three of the soldiers. The first raised his scythe and brought it down. On instinct, he raised his own sword to parry the strike, and sent their blades crashing with sparks. The first mummy continued to rain down blow after blow, and Grantaire continued to parry. A second attacked him from the side, and he delivered a swift kick to its crumbling ribs. He twisted his sword upwards, sending the first's scythe clanging to the ground, and taking advantage of the moment, he swiped his sword through the mummy, then delivering a swift punch to the last when he let out a ferocious roar and dove for him. The mummy burst apart into dust, and he broke out into a coughing fit.
When he straightened back up, he sighed in equal parts annoyance and despair.
There were more.
Of course there were more.
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Courfeyrac panted as Combeferre continued to pull him around corners, away from the action, and away from Imhotep, who seemed to have set his sights on the golden B ook of Amun-Ra once more. When they rounded the next pillar, he tugged hard on Combeferre’s hand; he couldn’t do this — it was too difficult to run and try and translate at the same time.
Combeferre crashed into him at the force of his tug, shooting out a hand to steady Courfeyrac before he tumbled to the ground. He bent over, coughing.
“What, what is it?” he wheezed out.
Courfeyrac ran a panicked hand through his curls. “I can’t figure out this last symbol,” he confessed, frustrated.
Gasping for breath, Combeferre gestured for him to hand back the book. “Let me see.”
Combeferre squinted at the book for a long while. Impatient, Courfeyrac turned his head to look around the corner, where Grantaire clashed swords with an army of mummy soldiers that only seemed to grow. “Any time now, Combeferre!”
“I — I — ”
“COURFEYRAC HURRY!” Enjolras screamed.
Heart in his throat, he ripped the book back from Combeferre, ignoring his affronted look, and instead yelled out, “I CAN’T FIGURE OUT THIS LAST SYMBOL!”
Swords clanged, feet pounded against the ground, mummies shrieked, and, and, maybe Enjolras didn’t hear him, shit, he would have to —
“WHAT DOES IT — SHIT! — WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE?”
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Where the ever loving FUCK was Courferyac?
Enjolras pushed off another wall, breathing heavy, desperate to get that one extra foot, that one last extra foot that would put him too beyond reach for Metjen to catch up. At this point, he felt like he was going to throw up from how hard and how long he had been running. The heat of the exercise made his surroundings feel fuzzy; in the distance, he could hear Grantaire yelling out various profanities as he sliced through mummy after mummy and parried with scythe after scythe, but it was a background noise, back in his head as the only sound he could really hear was his heavy breathing, and the only thought he allowed to cross his mind was run run run.
He heaved for breath as he pushed onwards; the entire place was beginning to muddle in a blur, it sounded as if he was going underwater —
Then ringing clear as day as if he broke the surface of the sea and could hear clearly—
“I CAN’T FIGURE OUT THIS LAST SYMBOL!”
The last symbol! He was at the end of the inscription! If he could just figure that out, well, it wouldn’t stop Imhotep just yet, but at least it would —
“WHAT DOES IT — ” he tripped up and sent himself sprawling to the ground, “SHIT! — ” stumbling back up to his feet frantically, he cried out, “WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE?” He dared a glance back at where Metjen would have been chasing him, had he been there, and despite the fact that he felt he would retch, he let out a little breathless laugh, because he was gone, he wasn’t there anymore, he —
He gasped and choked as he ran straight into Metjen’s outstretched hand, which clamped tightly around his throat. Stumbling back from the force with which Metjen pushed him back against the pillar behind him and squeezed tighter, his other hand trying to force a wickedly sharp dagger into his face. He clawed at the hand around his neck, choking and desperately gasping for breath while wrapping a hand around the wrist of Metjen’s left, straining to keep the dagger from ripping through him.
“COURFEYRAC!” he choked out.
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Grantaire clashed weapons with the mummy soldier in front of him, screaming as he parried and thrusted and sliced.
“SHIT! FUCK! CRAP! WHY WON’T YOU AND YOUR LOSER FRIENDS GODDAMN DIE!”
The mummy in front of him brought his scythe across his chest, and he felt his torso light on fire as the tip of the blade sliced across and left a (thankfully shallow) red gash. Grunting loudly in pain, he raised his boot and kicked at the priest’s middle. When the soldier doubled over in pain, he raised his sword, feeling it stick for a moment in something behind him, something that shrieked in pain and burst into dust, covering him in ash, then bringing the sword violently down on the head of the mummy in front. It shrieked in pain and burst. Breathless, he had no time to rest as he spun on his heel and raised his sword to defend against another blow from another priest that struck at him from his side. He gasped for breath as he clanged his sword against another blow, then twisting his blade in hopes of carrying the blade out of the soldier’s hands. Instead, the soldier clamped on tight to its weapon, sending Grantaire spinning around it with the force with which he had attempted the parry.
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When Enjolras screamed for him, Courfeyrac set out to quickly describe the symbol. “It’s — it’s like, a — a bird!” he called back.
He felt the book ripped out of his hands, and this time he gave Combeferre an affronted look. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, Combeferre corrected, “It’s a stork, Enjolras!”
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From somewhere around the corner of the room by the staircase, Grantaire heard Combeferre call out, “It’s a stork, Enjolras!” and while he would love to decipher what the hell he was talking about, he had more pressing issues.
Namely, this soldier that seemed twice more skilled than the rest.
The soldier let out a ferocious roar and brought his scythe down with a force Grantaire had not yet seen, and as he raised his sword over and over to block the attacks, he felt himself pushed back further and further. Grunting, he raised his sword one more time when the mummy soldier heaved his scythe down so violently it knocked Grantaire backwards, off his feet and to the ground, a pillar to his back. He groaned when he crashed to the hard ground, and let out a yell as the soldier lifted his scythe directly over his middle, beginning to bring his arm back down to deliver a sharp stab to his chest, but a bright flame next to him caught his eye and there — !
He mustered whatever strength he had left in his muscles and rolled to the side as the blade came down and stuck itself in the ground. Frantically, he grabbed at the flaming torch lying next to him, and thrust it up at the soldier towering above above him, effectively lighting the bastard on fire, allowing Grantaire the time to leap to his feet and kick him to the ground, into a puddle of water, where he brought down his sword, hacking it to bits before spinning once more and slicing through the new mob coming his way.
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Enjolras felt his vision start to go blurry as he clawed desperately at the hand around his throat. Dear God if he didn’t get some air, just one gulp, he needed to breathe so bad—
“It’s a stork, Enjolras!”
Combeferre’s voice snapped through his haze. A stork? The symbol was a stork?
Renewing his violent struggle against the body holding him captive and pushing back against the hand hand inching the dagger closer and closer to his face, he searched his brain for the translation of the symbol of a stork, and with his final bit of breath, choked out, “Ah---Ah--Ahmenophous!”
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Courfeyrac squinted closer at the symbol, then grinned, looking back up at Combeferre. “Ah yes, I see.”
Combeferre glared at him.
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Grantaire backed up the staircase, climbing as he sliced through each of the mummies fighting their way up to him, only to be slashed and kicked back down. Kicking at his left, he spun to his right and made a quick slice, then turning back and thrusting through the middle of a third wielding a spear. Two shrieks behind him had him turning to look up the staircase when he felt his footing knocked off as he tumbled down the stairs, two of the mummies having kicked him down, his sword flying out of his hands and down the steps with him, landing far from his reach. He yelled out in pain as the world rapidly spun around him while he continued to tumble down, each step sharply jabbing him in the gut until he came to a stop on the ground. In front of him, the two soldiers were quickly joined by another two, all four wielding spears and marching straight for him. Hurriedly, he scurried backwards on his palms, but his hands gave out and he fell back just as the soldiers reached him, all thrusting their spear tips right down and stabbing through his —
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“FINISH THE INSCRIPTION, COURFEYRAC!” Combeferre screamed, as he brought him out the corner, then screamed once more when he saw Imhotep heading right there way.
Fumbling with the book, Courfeyrac bellowed, “Uh — uh — HOOTASH IM AHMENOPHOUS!”
Shocked, Imhotep spun on his heel and turned his gaze to where Grantaire lay on the ground, towered over by four soldiers.
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Grantaire panted, eyes squeezed shut, and…
And why didn’t he feel any agonizing pain? Why didn’t he feel his body be torn to shreds?
Cautiously, he opened his eyes, then widened them when he saw the mummy soldiers completely still, not moving their blades a single inch forwards, that once inch enough to pierce through Grantaire’s cheek, his stomach, his right eye and his hea —
No thinking like that. No moving. He didn’t dare even breathe in fear of setting the soldiers in motion again.
A moment of silence passed.
Then, as quick as they had been to attack Grantaire, they withdrew their weapons away from him, and instead turned a different direction.
From the corner where he stood, Imhotep repeatedly yelled the same words at the soldiers, over and over to no avail, and even Grantaire, who still couldn’t understand a single word of spells and enchantments, could tell that he was trying to command them to kill him, but to no luck.
Despite everything, Grantaire allowed himself a small smile.
Imhotep no longer controlled the soldiers.
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“HOOTASH IM AHMENOPHOUS!”
Was that Courfeyrac? Did he finish the inscription then? How very nice.
Enjolras felt his eyes start to slip close. Black spots began to dance in front of his vision as he felt the strength in his arms begin to dwindle. He gave up trying to paw at the hand around his throat, and felt his hand around Metjen’s wrist begin to loosen, and the blade inch dangerously forward.
“FAKUSHKA METJEN!”
In the background, he thought he could hear Imhotep scream out “METJEN!” Enjolras’ head lolled back and he let out one last desperate choke, one last desperate gasp for air, his head spun, his vision started to fade —
And then he was being hurled to the side, the pressure off his throat, and Enjolras collapsed to the ground and gasped for breath, heaving in as much air as he could, retching and coughing, eyes watering as he watched Metjen back up away from where a troop of four soldiers marched towards the Mummy’s beloved, their blades all raised. Outnumbered, Metjen could only raise his own dagger feebly.
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Despite the fact that the Mummy’s lover — Metjen, or whatever it was Enjolras had said his name was — was one of the bad guys, Courfeyrac couldn’t help but recoil as he watched the soldiers march on him, knowing full well what was about to happen. But right before, the Mummy turned towards him and Combeferre.
“Give me that book!” The Mummy roared out in Ancient Egyptian as he stalked closer.
Dropping the book in terror, he and Combeferre backed up against the wall, their eyes fixed firmly on Imhotep, but before he could reach him, the shrill shriek of who could only be Metjen pierced through the air, making Imhotep spin with panic in his eyes as he tried to stumble closer to his beloved, but too little, too late.
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Despite all the violence he had seen today, Enjolras still couldn’t help but flinch as he watched the soldiers surround their blades and begin to hack Metjen to shreds. The first plunged its pear into his heart, then when Metjen turned, the second sliced its scythe through his middle, leaving the third to kick the body to the ground and the fourth to mercilessly hack at it until nothing remained but a horrific pile of shreds.
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At the sight of his lover hacked to death on his command, the Mummy whirled back around to Courfeyrac, his eyes burning with a fiery rage that had Courfeyrac feeling as if he truly were on fire. He moved once more towards, them, this time quicker than ever, and Combeferre barely had the time to raise his gun and fire before Imhotep had grabbed hold of his shirt and flung him aside, sending him crashing into a pillar and slumping to the ground with a pained moan.
Terrified out of his mind, Courfeyrac tried to stumble back, but he gasped when his back hit solid wall instead.
The Mummy grabbed him ferociously by the throat and lifted him off the ground, drawing out a choked cry from him.
“NOW YOU DIE!”
Behind him, Courfeyrac spotted Grantaire approaching quietly, lifting up his sword, then bringing it down on the arm holding Courfeyrac up, slicing the arm clean off and allowing Courfeyrac to drop to the ground and throw the hand off, rolling away and gasping for air.
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As the Mummy’s arm came sliding off, Imhotep turned to him, first glancing down at where his arm was now severed, then back at him, grabbing Grantaire by the shirt and hurling him as hard as he could away.
Grantaire crashed to the ground, setting his entire body aflame with pain, and he let out a strangled grunt as he watched the Mummy pick up his severed arm.
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The Mummy bent low to grab at his detached arm, and while he kept his gaze fixed on Grantaire, Courfeyrac seized his chance, subtly surging up to the Mummy’s pocket and — pulling that same trick he did what seemed like years ago to steal from Grantaire — he snatched the key from the Mummy without garnering so much as a single glance.
The Mummy stalked closer to Grantaire, who watched with unadulterated loathing as the Mummy came closer.
Turning his gaze away from them, Courfeyrac thrust his arm in the air, proudly displaying the star key held in his hands, and shouting, “Enjolras! I’ve got it!”
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Grantaire stumbled back up to his feet, matching the Mummy on the same height.
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Enjolras scurried up to his feet and tripped over himself running to where Courfeyrac now held both the key in his hands and was now picking up the book off the ground.
He cast a panicked look at where Imhotep was now lifting Grantaire off his feet, fearing for his life, but also for their limited time. Over his shoulder to Grantaire, he called out, “Keep him busy!”
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As he felt himself fly through the air once more, Grantaire thought, Really? Keep him busy?
When he landed hard on the ground for what must have been the hundredth time today, he grit out. “Sure. No problem.”
The Mummy approached him once more.
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Enjolras ripped the key out of his brother’s hands, and twisted it viciously through the lock, opening up the hidden pages of enchantments they needed. He flipped through the pages of solid gold frantically, the book propped up on Courfeyrac's chest like a stand.
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HOW MANY TIMES DID THE MUMMY THINK HE NEEDED TO BE THROWN THROUGH THE AIR AND BACK ONTO THE GROUND?
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“Hurry, Enjolras, hurry!” his brother urged, keeping his eyes glued to where the Mummy was making his way towards Grantaire for the last time, seemingly done playing his little game and moving in for the kill.
Enjolras’ own heart was jackrabbiting in his chest as his eyes scanned each each page, eyes wild as he looked for the correct incantation. “You’re not helping!” he replied through gritted teeth, daring a glance at Grantaire, then immediately turning his attention back to the book in front of him as his heart leaped in his throat and he searched like mad for the enchantment to save them all.
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Grantaire felt the Mummy lift him up one more time, his hands gripping his shirt tight, dangling him in mid-air, but this time was different. This time, he wasn't being thrown in the air. This time, Grantaire gasped as the Mummy hissed something menacing before beginning to unhinge his jaw, and Grantaire kicked his legs and thrashed about trying to free himself, knowing what was coming and —
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"ENJOLRAS, HURRY!" Courfeyrac yelled, but Enjolras couldn't hear him over the rush of blood he felt in his ears as the adrenaline of victory coursed through his brains and he cried out, "I've got it!"
Imhotep's jaw was getting larger and larger, and so too were Grantaire's eyes, as Imhotep began to inhale and —
"Kadeesh mal, kadeesh mal!" he read. Both the Mummy and Grantaire' heads whipped around to look at him as Enjolras bore his gaze directly into Imhotep's wide, fearful eyes and triumphantly finished the incantation: "Pared oos, pared oos."
A whinny and a horsewhip sounded, causing the Mummy to drop Grantaire to the ground and whirl around to look as the blue, shimmering spirit of Anubis, god of death came riding down in his chariot, passing through Imhotep and ripping from him his spiritual form to whisk down to the Underworld, leaving his body running after his spirit, carried far away from him, through the doorway and out of any of their reach.
Grantaire got back on his feet and stumbled back to his side, picking up his sword once more and tucking him behind him as they all watched Anubis ride away. When Imhotep turned back to them, vengeance burning in his eyes, Grantaire glanced back down at him to glare. "I thought you said this was going to kill him!" he said, frustrated. With all three of them backed up against the wall, Grantaire saw no choice but to hold out his sword in defence as the Mummy kept walking towards them, and Grantaire's eyes went wide but determined, but Enjolras knew something he didn't, that when the Mummy finally came close and Grantaire thrust his blade through Imhotep's chest and his eyes widened, the whole reason for reading out the incantation was because now —
"He is mortal," he declared quietly with a grim smile.
Imhotep's eyes widened and a look of anguish crossed his face as he glanced down at the sword impaling and killing his now mortal body. He staggered back, off Grantaire's sword, and into a silver pool, echoing with the shrieks of the dead, swirling with their howling spirits, a one way river down to the Underworld. As he began to sink down, far below where Enjolras, Grantaire, and Courfeyrac would ever be able to reach, he began to decay once more into the crumbling, mummified state they had originally found him in that day they opened his sarcophagus. Right as he went down under completely, right as all that was left was his head, having crumbled down to the first time he had seen him in the moonlight of the passageway, Imhotep locked eyes with Enjolras and spoke clearly and crisply before his eyes melted to nothing and his head too was finally swallowed up by the shimmering river.
Without tearing his eyes off the river, he translated in a low murmur, "Death is only the beginning."
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Thenardier strained under the weight of his second bag of gold. Damn it was heavy, but it would all be worth it… his mouth was already watering at the thought of his first bag of gold waiting for him outside, tied on his camel.
Groaning, he leaned up against a wall, resting his heavy bag on some sort of a plank sticking out of the wall. He leaned his head back to catch his breath when a creak had him turning back to see the gold moving the plank downward. No, wait, not plank…
As the ground beneath him began to shake and the walls around him started to sink down as if to close, it hit him.
Lever.
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Beneath their feet, the ground began to tremor, as if they were caught in the midst of an earthquake, and Enjolras snapped his head up to see the walls around them begin to move downwards, sand pouring in streams from the ceiling meaning to trap them inside the room and then suffocate them with sand. He gasped. Shit.
A familiar calloused hand wrapped itself tight around his wrist. "Alright, time to go!" Grantaire decided, pulling him into a run, Courfeyrac, book tucked under his arm, hauling up Combeferre, who seemed to be a bit dizzy at first, but was otherwise fine on his own feet.
The sprinted up the stairs and out the room, sprinting through a dimly lit corridor alongside which ran several water wells in a frantic rush to find the original crevice through which they had first entered as the walls came crumbling down around them and passageways continued to close up as their gates slid down closed. Behind him and Grantaire were Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who were fine right there with them, but there was a sound of feet tripping up, Courfeyrac must have stumbled up, and then there was the sound of —
Enjolras' heart stopped dead in his chest. The sound of an impressive splash. Catching up beside him were Combeferre and his brother, but confirming his worst fear, his brother's arms were empty.
Breaking his wrist free of Grantaire's grasp, he turned back and ran to where Courfeyrac had tripped and the Book of Amun-Ra , the entire reason he had come to Hamunaptra in the first place —his life long pursuit— had fallen, sunk into the well of water, gripping his hair tight and crying out in anguish. "You lost the book! Courfeyrac how could you lose the book? Oh my gosh, I, the book — " he cut off in a yelp as Grantaire locked his wrist around his hand once more, this time in an iron grip, and forcibly tugged him away from the well, ignoring his cries of pain at the prospect of leaving behind what he had sought for so long.
"Sorry, Angel, but not now!"
"But Grantaire, the book — !”
"Not at the price of your life!"
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Shit. Despite being a thief, Thenardier had never been a fast runner. Not that running really mattered as he got down on all fours to crawl out this passageway, the roof coming down on him quicker than ever, sand pouring around him.
His speed would be much quicker if he let go of the bag of gold he was dragging behind him, he was so close to escaping, there, right in front of him was the the doorway to the next corridor, he just had to get through this one, but the ceiling was coming down on him and the doorway was closing quicker and quicker and he just needed to let go of the gold—
But his gold! He couldn't do that!
The ceiling was beginning to come crashing down, Thenardier had to move.
It was the gold or his life.
Gold.
Then, he felt the ceiling actually touch his back, and his breath closed up in panic, and you know what?
Life.
He abandoned his gold and dove through the sliver of the doorway just as the gate came crashing down.
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In front of him and Combeferre, Grantaire kept a tight grip on Enjolras, who seemed to rightfully decide that he would cry about Courfeyrac losing him the Book of Amun-Ra after this entire ordeal. He panted with the effort of having to keep pushing himself to run, and beside him, Combeferre looked to be much in the same boat. As he continued his sprint, Courfeyrac worried for the others and hoped they made it out of the pyramid.
They rounded yet another corner and shot through another doorway, and finally, finally, it seemed as if they were finally retracing their steps because they found themselves back in the room of the treasures of Hamunaptra, and really, the gold was right there, no one else was coming to get it, no one else would be able to come and get it surely, as he skidded to a halt in the middle of the room and said, "Come on, we can take just a little," they could stop for just a few bits of gold, but Combeferre had other plans as he turned back and dove for his hand, crying, "No, Courfeyrac!" and pulling him once more into a run despite his protestations.
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A few feet in front of Thenardier, sliding through the entrance and subsequent exit of the treasure room was a very familiar figure with disheveled curly black hair…
"Grantaire!" he called out desperately as he pushed himself to run faster. "Grantaire!"
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Grantaire raced to the doorway at the end of the treasure room. The gate was coming down quicker, and their chances of exit were beginning to shrink. He pushed Enjolras down first, who landed on the ground with a little oof! before crawling through the opening. As he himself slid through the rapidly closing exit, he heard a familiar voice call his name.
"Grantaire! Grantaire!"
Thenardier.
He watched as Combeferre and Courfeyrac both dove through the narrowing slit, giving him a questioning look when they saw he wasn't running before setting off themselves once more.
"Grantaire?"
He looked over his shoulder to see Enjolras panting, flushed from running, and —
"Enjolras, go!" he urged. "I'm coming, just go!"
Shaking his head stubbornly, Enjolras said, "I'm not leaving without you. Come on!"
Fuck, the whole world was crumbling around them, the ceiling could crush them, they could end up trapped in here forever, and Enjolras was waiting for him, because he wouldn't leave without.
Yeah, okay, at this point, Grantaire knew that he hadn't just caught feelings, but that he was very much head over heels in love with Enjolras.
But now really wasn't the time to be thinking of that, because they really need to run and holy fucking shit, what was taking Thenardier so long?
The slit was shrinking narrower with each passing second. Enjolras stood with a hand on Grantaire' shoulder, casting fearful glances upwards at the sinking ceiling and on the other side, Thenardier made a dive for the slit. Grantaire flung his arm out to offer his hand. Why was he even helping this rat bastard? He was a large part of the reason why they were even trapped in this whole mess, why he had Enjolras taken away from him for quite a while. As Enjolras began to plead with him to just come and get away, he very much considered drawing his hand away.
But instead, as the doorway became even more narrow, the ceiling became difficult for someone as short as Enjolras to stand properly under it, he extended his hand further and yelled, "Come on, come on! Come on, Thenardier!"
"Grantaire!" the man panted, fumbling for his fingers, and Grantaire almost got a hold of his hand —
But too late, the slit was too narrow and there was no more chance of pulling Thenardier to safety. Instead, Grantaire withdrew his own hand lightning quick so as not to get crushed, wrapped his hand once more around Enjolras' wrist, and set off into a dead run made in a half crouch, calling back, "Goodbye, Thenardier!" as the gate shut closed, trapping Thenardier on the other side, and the ceiling came down quicker on him and Enjolras, running for the exit that would let them live.
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He couldn't believe it. Grantaire had left him, he had just left him to die, shut him out.
How could he do this to him?
Dejected, he made his way back to the treasure room. On all four sides, all the gates had shut, trapping him inside forever.
The ceiling was still coming down upon him, but miracle of miracles, by the sheer number of mirrors and bronze plates in the room, when the ceiling clashed with them, they wielded enough weight to halt the ceiling's motion and keep it from crushing him.
He swallowed at the prospect.
No food. No water. He would die in here and no one would ever know.
Oh well, of all rooms to be trapped in, this wasn't too bad, right.
The sound of scampering drew his attention to something moving near his feet, and it--it was a--
He staggered back at the sight of it. It was a beetle--one of those beetles. But behind him was more of the same scampering sound, and so to was it there to the left of him and he turned to his right and they were there too, and it was an entire floor-full of those beetles, all scampering towards him, their new meal , and he was trapped in here with them and —
No one did ever hear Thenardier's agonized scream in the end. It does seem to be that he got his comeuppance, though, as nasty little fellows like him always seemed to get. Always.
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When Grantaire lifted him through the crevice and the bright rays of the Egyptian sun hit him, Enjolras gasped as if he had been given new breath. They were finally up out of the pyramid and in the bright light of day, but as he felt Grantaire take his hand again and tug, they still weren’t done running as the entire sight came crashing down around them.
They all broke out into a run once more, stumbling through the sand as the ground beneath them shook and threatened to knock them all off their feet. Enjolras panted as he urged his legs on to keep running, then screaming out when an archway supported by two pillars came crashing down. Grantaire swerved both of them out of the way, following the lead of his brother and Combeferre in front of them. Camels and horses all fled as the temple, the pyramid, everything around it — all came crumbling to the ground.
In front of them, a pillar began to fall, but he pushed on faster, screaming as it just barely missed crushing him when he darted in front of it, desperately trying to get away from the sight. He stumbled, but the grip on his wrist kept him from falling, and when he dared a glance to see what tripped him up, he shot his head back up and urged his legs to carry him out faster as the sand began to sink under their feet.
They bolted out the archway leading to the sight and fast across the sand, far from the sight of the ruins now even more wrecked, not daring to stop until they were well away, in the flat area of the desert where the camels rested, only then crashing into each other as they halted to double over and catch their breaths next to each other, watching as the ruins of Hamunaptra destroyed itself, sending clouds of sand up into the air, almost as a warning sign to deter explorers from ever treading on its cursed grounds again.
Enjolras turned towards his brother, gripping on tight to his shirt as Courfeyrac wrapped him in a hug while they watched as the entire place collapsed in the distance, breathing hard and reveling in the comfort of each other’s familiarity.
Finally, for a second now, Enjolras had the chance to breathe . He closed his eyes and let himself lose himself in that slight comfort for a while. When he opened his eyes again, he looked at Courfeyrac and smiled, laughing in relief.
Then, something —a wrapped hand— came down on Courfeyrac’s shoulder, and they both jumped and screamed, Courfeyrac tightening his arms and whirling him away, before the sound of a familiar, bellowing laugh made them aware of who it really was.
Enjolras opened his eyes and glared at Bahorel, who was caught in a fit of laughter, the rest — Joly, Boss, Jehan, Feuilly — right behind him, and while Enjolras would have liked to be annoyed, he found his overwhelming sense of relief that his friends had made it out alive was too powerful to let him truly be.
Courfeyrac huffed as he let Enjolras extricate himself from his arms and walk back to Grantaire’s side. “Oh, thank you so much for that,” his brother said irritatedly.
Bahorel was still attempting to recover from his fit of roaring laughter. “You should have see your faces, the both of you, oh my God--”
Rolling their eyes, Jehan shoved Bahorel out of the way, sending him falling into the sand with a loud hey! They made their way to Enjolras and took his hands in their own.
“We’re glad to see you haven’t been turned into a mummy,” they said softly, smiling at him.
Enjolras grinned. “I’m glad you all made it out, I was worried,” he responded, squeezing Jehan’s hands.
Feuilly let out a whistle. “So, it’s all gone then?”
Combeferre shifted his gaze to the speck in the distance that had once been the pyramid. “Yes, seems as if.”
Bossuet shook his head disappointedly. “This is just my luck. Of course we go home empty handed.”
“Empty handed except all the germs we must have crawling on our skin right now,” Joly corrected with a shudder.
Beside him, Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Empty handed?” he repeated. Enjolras felt a hand on his waist spin him sideways to look up at Grantaire. “I’m not so sure I would say that.”
Enjolras beamed as he felt Grantaire slide his arms around his waist and pull him closer. He leaned up on his toes as Grantaire himself bent downwards to meet him in the middle, pressing his lips to Grantaire’s softly before wrapping his arms around his neck. Grantaire’s lips were a little dry, a little cracked, a little like the desert itself, but he found he didn’t really quite care, losing himself in the warmth and feel of his lips on his own, gentle and slow and all sorts of passionate. Behind them, he knew all his friends were hollering and whistling and that Bahorel and Courfeyrac together were for sure making some sort of inappropriate comments, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care, not as Grantaire tightened his grip on his waist and pulled him ever closer. He smiled into the kiss, and as soon as he did, he knew Grantaire was doing the same, too.
“Oh come on you two!” Courfeyrac yelled out in exasperation after they had started kissing once more. “You’ll have plenty of time to tumble when we get home, but to do that, we first have to actually get there!”
Breaking away from the kiss, cheeks flushed red with mortification, he turned a murderous glare towards his brother as he hissed, “Courfeyrac!” Beside him, Grantaire laughed and wrapped his arms around his waist once more, this time simply to draw him in his embrace, tucking Enjolras’ head under his chin.
“Leave it, Angel,” Grantaire’s voice rumbled where he was pressed up against his chest. “He’s just in a rush to get back so he and Combeferre can have a go at it.”
This time, the entire group broke out into a fit of laughter, all but Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who each turned red.
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In a mirror of their journey to Hamunaptra the first time, each of them had to double up on each camel they found resting in the sand. Grantaire smiled when Enjolras laughed as he boosted him up, Grantaire wrapping his arms around Enjolras’ waist once more and pressing a series of kisses on the side of his neck from the angle at which he sat, Enjolras complaining of it with only half the heart to do so.
Grantaire’s original pursuit when he first landed in the sands of Hamunaptra was to find gold and make his life richer.
Turns out, he found something better.
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Not that we would actually let out heroes leave empty handed.
Remember Thenardier’s first sack of gold? The one he attached to a camel right before his greed led him to wander once more into the pyramid?
Looks like the crew is in for a big surprise when Grantaire dismounts from the camel he and Enjolras rode and looks to the camel’s side to investigate the jangling noise that annoyed him all throughout the ride back home.