The Box

Trigger Warning: burns, death

Crooked archways hang above the shattered glass pieces of the mirror on the floor, intricate runes lining the dark hallway and illuminating it with their glow once footsteps crunch under the broken glass, a gloved hand gesturing vaguely towards their direction with a flick of their wrist and a muttered incantation. A low voice mummers quietly, a mask covering their eyes. They pause to examine the glowing symbols on the walls, retrieving a leather-bound book from a pouch, eyes glancing back and forth between the two before verifying their suspicions. Satisfied, they snap the book shut and slide it back into its pouch at their side, hidden beneath a long cloak. The light from the runes reveals scarred patches of skin around their forearm, the kind someone would get from severe burns. They pay no mind to this.

“If I’m right about this…” the voice mutters, seemingly uneasy despite their earlier confirmation. Their footsteps continue, walking towards another corridor with a heavily-locked door. “This will all end here.”

Unlit candles line this corridor, and the figures’ fingers twitch up slightly, relighting them on instinct, but the heavy sigh afterwards betrays their true feelings: they would have preferred to stay in the dark, where the light cannot reveal the scarred skin from their mouth and jaw, down to their neck. The burns encircling their arms, the worst of which at their hands, can be barely seen past the gloves, apart from the charred and broken skin peeking out near the wrists. The light reminds them too much of the raging flames that claimed their body, an image of their body, unable to withstand the force of the artifact and burning alive. They were unable to stop it before, and yet, here they were, about to try it again.

Hesitation slowed them briefly, stopping them before the door. They glanced back at the runes from the corresponding hallway and took a moment to reconfirm within their mind. A nod. They returned to the door. Their hands pressed against it, pushing their weight until the door fully opened. Inside, nothing else occupies the room except for the artifact. A small, glowing box, hovering a few feet off of a small pedestal with several strange buttons and functions attached. Despite their previous encounter with the artifact, it showed absolutely no damage at all from the incident. It was to be expected. They had observed the same kind of indestructibility from it beforehand. This artifact could only be destroyed by human hands, as that was what created it. 

The shadowed figure had spent many years after the incident searching for it, all too aware of the destruction the artifact could cause. They eventually unraveled the location of the protective runes for the box, which led them here. Unfortunately, the powerful magical barrier surrounding the area had taken up most of their ability, and they were unable to disable them with the meager magic they had left. They would just have to fight through its brute-force, just like they had before. No protection, no magic. 

It was time. They stepped forward and reached out to grasp the box, bracing for the inevitable rush of flames burning against their skin. As soon as flesh met the artifact, it was engulfed in flame, consequently carrying the flames up their hands and arms, ripping through the fabric easily and reducing it to ashes within seconds. They let out a sharp hiss between their teeth, but tightened their grip on the box, relinquishing their burning body in exchange for the slow decay of the box itself.

Gritting their teeth to bear the pain, they pushed what was left of their hands to come together, hoping to crush it until it was nothing more than smoldering ashes, like they were going to be. But their broken hands crumbled under the flames, releasing the box and floating to the ground. Quickly, they pushed their body forward to meet the box, but they were too late. Without the touch of human flesh, it had already begun regenerating, and those mere seconds they had spent apart was enough for it to be completely healed of its decay. As their body met with the box again, the flames worked much quicker, a blast of fire encasing their body so strong they could feel the life slipping away from them as their body began to crumble. 

They let out a smoky, choked-out laugh, resigned to their fate. “I’m sorry, Sara. I failed.”

The only bits of their body left them, crumbling charred ashes, fell to the floor, and after only a moment, all of the remains lit up with one more burst of fire. When the smoke cleared, the room was devoid of any sign of life, save for the floating box, which now seemed to hum.