The answer was simple. But there were other things to take care of before he could even mutter the two words. Because there it was, an arm reaching through the sliver of an opening the double doors created. He could hear Jeremiah screaming in the background ( amidst a barrage of curse words, ones that Paul didn’t even know existed in that order ) that “you bunch of mother-fuckers should’ve just listened to me.”
( but no one listened to the ex-convict )
He slammed the sole of his boot against the offending arm, and the creature snarled, swiping at his jeans with those hammering claws, the relentless talons. Who knew walking into an Egyptian catacomb without the correct key for the lock would’ve resulted in releasing three harpies? Or rather, the mythological, foreign, supposedly extinct form of them.
He spat out the words as he slammed his boot into the arm once again, then aimed his crossbow right through the shrinking opening, right into the centre of the crumpled forehead. Someone was babbling about reading more about these creatures, but a distinct hissing sound attracted his attention next. And he was the one who cursed underneath his breath.
In the same order as Jeremiah. Looks like the guy’s good for more than just insisting he’s right all the time. ( the issue: he usually was. )
"And now, the chamber’s filling with sand."
He sent a slightly preoccupied glance towards Cat, who had her brow crinkled into that adorable knot right at the centre of her forehead, and despite the nervosa spreading through the rest of the members of their strange little entourage, there was that budding excitement. It rubbed off on him. What did it matter if death was imminent? The two of them, having this adventure together. That was what mattered. He shouldered the crossbow and switched his cherry-flavoured lollipop
( why cherries reminded him of Egypt? to this day, he isn’t certain )
to the other side of his mouth with that arrogant grin.
"How not textbook can this place be?”