Egypt

4,543 years since initial death
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This couldn't be happening.

That's impossible. What she told him is impossible, it has to be.

What he heard back there was nothing short of fiction. She has to be on drugs. Valerie must have taken crystal meth before that plane crash, this cannot be true.

Absolutely nothing stood in the way of Mark as he returned to civilization. The adrenaline that pumped through his veins kept him going, forcing him to push through and find any means of help to navigate and escape this foreign world.

He never brought anything along with him. Not that it even mattered, everything he had was lost in the jungle. This wouldn't be the first time he's lost everything in a fire, although the jungle provided a new aspect to the situation.

That was until news of the private jet's wreckage was announced. The ruins have been found. If any of his luggage survived, he might find his fake passport to travel far away from here. Although it was risky, he had to come forward as a surviving passenger.

With Valerie nowhere to be seen, he claimed he was the only survivor onboard. Though he never stuck around for any investigations, he was off to gather his belongings; if any even survived.

Even with his immortality, he felt that time was running out. He stayed behind as the emergency crew worked to put out any fires that started from the crash. At first glance, he could see several scattered debris. The chances of his items surviving were close to none, but he maintained a steady level of hope.

Some of Valerie's clothes that she had packed were found stuck in tree branches. That was the only thing that brought Mark any comfort.

Scavenging through the remains of the disaster scene, many of his personal belongings were discovered. Some were salvageable, others weren't. But among the retrieved commodities, Mark only needed his passport. So when he found a black bag containing a few of his personal documents, he felt slightly relieved.

But the clock was still ticking. He needed to leave asap.

He never bothered to check where Valerie had gone after their conflict. With their relationship now fully shattered and ripped to pieces, he was free to be on his own once again. He's going to venture through one final adventure all alone, just like the old days.

That adventure would begin and end in his origins.

Egypt.

It was obvious where his first destination would be. For thousands of years now, every time he returns to those pyramids; he could feel it. The burning on his hand, it's always been there throughout all this time. He just never knew why.

The last time he'd been there was shortly before the first World War. He felt it then, and he's sure he'll feel it again.

So when he arrived at Cairo's international airport, he wasted no time in catching a bus. It was a short drive to Giza, and the pyramids were getting closer. Mark sat in the back of the bus, worriedly staring out the window.

Valerie's words haunted him. Especially the last part. She told him how much longer she'll be alive for. That number scares him.

If he receives a similar date, or one that's somehow larger; he won't know what to do with himself.

He can't wait that long.

23 billion days, equalling to over 63 million fucking years.

He hasn't even been alive for five thousand years yet and it's taken the heaviest toll on his sanity. This is worse than a nightmare. This is more than just a curse.

The bus took a turn around a corner, nearing an Egyptian museum. Mark had closed his eyes by this point, already in an overwhelming amount of pain. His head wanted to explode, and his stomach wanted to empty itself.

He was so worried, he never even felt his hand begin to burn again temporarily.

No words could describe the speeds at which he exited the bus upon arrival. Every passerby watched in confusion at the hyperventilating Egyptian man sprint past tour guides and families gathering around camels. His momentum never ceased, forcing him to continue his pursuit over the very same desert he's known since the Fourth Ancient Dynasty of this nation's history.

After all this time, those pyramids were still a spectacle of the world. Thousands were congregated around these structures. So many happy faces belonging to several foreign cultures that have traveled to witness history.

Mark hated them. He hates how they have scattered themselves around his home. They swarmed over his origins, littering their modern filth all over the very stones he placed thousands of years ago.

Khufu's Great Pyramid appeared taller the closer he approached it. There's a reason he chose it over any other pyramid. Mark can still remember the day of his first revival, when his hand burned and he saw the design of a boat carved in his skin. There are some memories he could never forget, and that was one of them.

So when Mark looked at his hand, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief when he saw the faint scarlet glow. It didn't produce nearly as much pain as he remembered, but it was a sign. It meant he was close.

Valerie's hand burned even when she was thousands of meters away. The closer she got, the worse the pain became. Not to mention how her aura grew more vibrant, basking her surroundings in a pink and purple hue. The same was happening to him, he just needed to find the source.

The noisy tourists nearly deafened him as he continued forward. He arrived at the base of Khufu's Pyramid, noticing his hand's aura growing slightly more flamboyant. The entrance to the pyramid was above him, and several tourists had formed a line to enter inside the wonder of the world.

He climbed the steps and narrowly shoved a few people aside. Some complaints were thrown his way, but he never cared. Peeking his head behind one man's shoulder, he could see the tunnel that led deep inside the pyramid. He could almost smile; almost.

What stopped him was the stand next to the entrance. A sign was erected, showcasing the prices of entry. No cameras inside, no touching the king's sarcophagus, and only ten minutes allowed inside the pyramid. This was absurd.

When it was his turn, he stood still and looked back at his hand. It still only emitted a faint glow. He hasn't gotten any closer to the source. Was it even inside the pyramid?

A few voices called him out, causing him to look back. Some Arabian men were talking to him in Arabic, he was taking too long. One of them tried to speak in English, but Mark wasn't listening to any of them.

What he was looking for wasn't inside here. The signal was too soft. So where could the source be?

That was when he looked up.

"Sir!" One man yelling at him in English grew tired of him. "You are holding the line! Please, pay the fee or leave."

Mark glared at him, slightly gritting his teeth. He could feel a transformation begin deep within his own soul.

"Yallah! You need to let other people pass!" When the man reached out to hold Mark's arm, all hell broke loose.

Shouting turned to screaming when Mark forcefully lunged at the Arab man and gripped his neck. He charged his way through the crowds of people, keeping his momentum towards the edge until he let go. The civilian was shoved backwards to fall down the short drop. He would have been fine, if it wasn't for the fact he landed on his head atop the hard sandstone.

Mark stopped to catch his breath as he looked below him. The man's body lay motionless as a stream of blood emerged from his cracked head. There was no time to mourn or regret his actions.

The screams that surrounded him only fueled his anger. He turned his head, finding any means to continue his pursuit. His feet took off, forcing him to run and climb a few stones in his path. Dozens of people attempted to get out of his way, but it was no use. There wasn't much room to begin with.

A few more unfortunate souls were shoved aside, including one child that Mark had purposefully pushed. He was beginning to gain some height, gripping the edge of every stone he came across.

By now, local Egyptian officers caught on to the commotion. A handful of them rushed in, quickly taking notice of one particular man free-climbing the Great Pyramid of Giza.

From his position, Mark couldn't even see the top. He's forgotten just how grand this structure was. Nevertheless, it was the least of his concerns; he just had to continue the climb.

But when he suddenly heard a voice yell at him through a megaphone, Mark twisted his head around. He was faced with an array of pistols aimed for his skull as law enforcement secured a perimeter.

Mark cursed to himself. He wanted to ignore them and continue, yet he couldn't. Extending his left hand high up into the air, it looked like he was surrendering. In reality, he just wanted to see what would happen. Rather than growing stronger, his glowing hand yielded no new results.

So he stopped, letting out a long exhale. Whatever his destiny is, he won't find it here. But why? He remembers every time he's felt his hand burn when he's by the pyramids. Every single time, it was a powerful sensation. Yet today, it weakened on him.

There was no use in running any longer. He was forced to surrender.

Willingly stepping down from the pyramid, Mark was aggressively placed into custody just when a few ambulances arrived. It was at that moment that he even came to realize what he had done.

An innocent man was dead. A handful of tourists were injured, including a six-year-old girl. All because of his blind rage that led him here. Through the back window of a police car, he was given the time he needed to reflect on what he had done in the name of destiny.

His next stop was at the police station. Who knows how many years he'll be put behind bars? This wasn't the Middle Ages anymore. If he escapes, everyone will know his face. He'll be recognized globally.

As he was being driven back to the city of Cairo, he needed a new plan. Getting a lawyer came to mind, but he wasn't able to concentrate.

The more he tried to think, the more frustrated he became. Nothing was making sense, and it infuriated him. For the first time in years, he was finally in serious trouble.

But something was striking him with so much pain. His anxiety was rising in the backseat of the vehicle. With his hands handcuffed, there wasn't anything he could do. This was the most uncomfortable position he's been in for as long as he could remember, and it only continued to feel worse.

The police car stopped at a traffic light. Mark leaned against the window, looking at the outside world. There was a strange building right across the road. It was particularly wide and modern-looking, but that wasn't what caught his eye. The ancient obelisk erected in front of the entrance is what got a reaction out of him.

It's the Grand Egyptian Museum. A majority of the findings and artifacts gathered from Egypt's history was stored in this very museum.

Mark could feel his handcuffs rattle. The burning sensation had grown rapidly, and he was now fully aware of it. Able to put two and two together, he knew what this meant.

All those years ago, there was something inside Khufu's Great Pyramid that called out to him. The reason he couldn't find it today was because it was moved. No longer in the pyramid, it was taken to the museum. His destiny was somewhere inside of that building.

With Mark's eyes widened, he desperately began shaking in the backseat. The officer driving paid no attention to his measly attempts at breaking free, continuing to wait for the traffic light to turn green.

Letting out a series of grunts, Mark could feel his hands vibrating worse than ever before. Unable to control himself any longer, his wrath aided him. The scarlet aura surrounding his hands resonated brightly, and finally; he had enough. The handcuffs were shattered in half and his hands were free.

He immediately wasted no time in ramming his body against the door. With his hands free, he applied pressure into elbowing the door along with slamming into it. Normally, it would be impossible to escape from this predicament. But Mark wasn't normal. Not when his wrath had a say in the matter.

By now, the officer turned around to check on his prisoner. He was caught dumbstruck at the sight of him bashing the door with all his might. The scariest part was how effective it was. A massive dent had already formed, and it seemed the door was on the verge of breaking apart.

So with one final scream, Mark pounded his way through violently as the car door was finally ripped open. Freedom was wide open, and he took the opportunity to jump from out of his seat and run.

Along the sounds of car horns blaring, Mark could hear the shouting from the two police officers who exited their vehicle and drew their guns. He never stopped, knowing they didn't have the right to open fire straight away.

The whole time, Mark concealed his left hand. He formed it into a fist and kept his other hand clenched over it, hiding the vibrant glow of his sin. Running past the obelisk, he charged for the main entrance. Several guests instinctively cleared a path in fear upon seeing the escaped prisoner flee from the authorities.

Rushing inside the building, he was met with a beautiful display of history. Tall statues of pharaohs and gods were held in display. Ancient columns rested neatly in line, beside stone thrones. In the back of the museum, a massive window allowed guests to view the pyramids from here. If he wasn't in such a hurry, he would have admired this place for just how gorgeous it really was.

Turning his head, his anger only turned to confusion. In complete bewilderment, Mark momentarily paused to stare at the coffee shop that was stationed right beside one of the Egyptian monuments.

"Who the hell put a Starbucks in a historical museum?" Mark yelled in frustration, clearly aggravated by such an odd scene. "Just what the pharaoh fucking ordered, a blended caramel frappuccino!"

However, right when Mark was distracted, he heard the screams of a nearby guard. As expected, three security personnel arrived, each of them aiming down the sights of their pistols. Any moment now, the police would enter the museum. There was nowhere left for him to run.

Glancing all around him, he knew he couldn't run. He kept his hand concealed, only this time he could really feel the pain getting to him. Whatever it is he's after, it's very close-by. He'll be damned if he'll allow anyone to stop him now.

Mark did the only thing he could do. He slowly turned his back towards the guards and placed both of his hands behind his head. His master plan was to surrender.

Listening closely to the footsteps behind him, he could immediately tell that all three guards were trying to surround him. Only one of them was stepping forward to apprehend him, the other two were keeping their distances and their guns drawn.

He calmly waited until he felt the presence of one guard stand directly behind him. What they didn't know was that this was a fake surrender. Mark just needed a way to get close to one of them, and they fell for his trap.

Once he felt the guard place his hands against him, Mark immediately initiated his combat protocol. Before anyone had time to process what happened, he already grabbed the CZ 75 semi-automatic pistol from the guard and beat him into a chokehold. Instantly, he put the gun against his head and held him as a hostage.

This was the point of no return, and Mark wasn't willing to negotiate. Standing his ground, he surveyed both of the security personnel and watched their positions carefully. He only had one chance. That's when an idea came to mind.

Finally willing to uncover his left hand, he extended it forward while keeping his stance behind the human shield. The blinding light of his glowing hand caught the attention of his assailants. Seemingly mesmerized by the scene, Mark's distraction was working.

Just when both security officers were puzzled by the vibrant scarlet aura resonating from the madman's hand, Mark took action. Turning his gun to the guard on the right, he fired two bullets. One shot grazed his waist, whereas the second round struck his neck. The affliction of his hand caused Mark to slightly shake and worsen his aim, but it didn't seem to matter. Two shots fired, one guard dead.

Turning his attention to the last guard on the left, he opened fire again while sidestepping with his hostage. Every bullet had missed and struck the walls. The security guard fired back, being careful not to shoot down his own partner.

Mark tried to take another shot, only realizing that he was out of ammo. Releasing the magazine, he reached for a new one from his hostage's belt. Inserting it into his pistol, he finally had enough.

Just when the last guard tried to stabilize a shot, Mark unleashed a torrent of bullets blindly. Once he heard the guard's painful cry resonate in his ears, he knew he got him. Focusing his shot, he saw him on the floor clenching his torso. One more shot was fired, entering the guard's head.

All that remained was his hostage. Without thinking it over, he placed the gun's barrel directly underneath the guard's chin and pulled the trigger. Immediately after executing him, he impatiently kicked him down with his foot and moved forward. 

Dropping the gun's magazine, he was once again out of ammunition. Tossing the gun altogether, he approached one of his victims and grabbed a new pistol from the blood-stained floor.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, he stared back at the corpses he's left scattered here. He couldn't waste anymore time, not when more guards could be approaching. That's not to mention the police that must have the building surrounded by now.

Mark sprinted down the wide-open exhibit and past the ancient monuments he's known since his birth. Just as he continued running, he heard screaming from behind. He darted his head back, noticing one officer that entered to survey the scene.

Firing a bullet, Mark missed again but got lucky with his second shot. Striking the cop in his waist, he bought himself some time. He was careful of how many bullets he would use up now. If he runs out again, he'll be done for.

Entering a narrow hallway, he ran through multiple exhibits. Several pillars were lined in the center of the corridor, stretching farther into the museum. The burning inscription in his hand grew more vibrant in color, inflicting far more agony than he could remember. He was getting closer.

Suddenly, a deafening shot blared in his ears from behind. Mark was knocked forward by the sheer force of a bullet entering his back. Heavy security was ramped up, and more police officers had entered the museum. They were gaining on him, some even taking a flanking position and hoping to surround him.

Mark took cover behind one of the pillars. He needed to continue forward. If it wasn't for his wrath keeping him stable, the bullet wound might have paralyzed him. Standing up, he made another attempt at sprinting down the hallway. Veering to the right, he ran a short distance before darting back to the left and hiding behind another column.

Even from here, he could hear the rotor blades of a helicopter hover above the building. Escape is most likely impossible by now. It didn't matter to him. More gunfire ensued, as several units raided the corridors in pursuit to hunt down the terrorist. Entering one room, Mark struggled to run up a flight of stairs before taking cover behind more pillars.

He never paid attention to his surroundings, only noticing the short glass railings to his left keeping him from falling downwards.

Running past another pillar, he nearly stumbled. It wasn't because of his bullet wound lodged in his back, rather it was because his hand spiked in sudden energy and catalytic agony. This was the worst it has ever been in his life, and it could only mean one thing.

Mark had to stop behind one more column to catch his breath. He could hear shouting from below. That meant he was finally surrounded. Slouched against the column behind him, Mark hesitated briefly before looking down at his pistol.

There's only one way this is ending. Slowly but steady, he lifted the gun up and placed it underneath his chin. The pistol shook in his hands. He had to do it.

Alas, he couldn't pull the trigger. The pain was far too powerful, and it was negatively affecting his will. Mark cursed to himself, slightly glancing to his left. He wanted to look behind him and see just how close the police were. But something didn't feel right.

The moment he turned his head to the left, he found himself staring at a wooden boat. This long and magnificent solar barge was displayed high and above the ground floor, supported by several frames and columns below. This wooden ship had a handful of paddles erected, but didn't have much room for anyone to board it.

It was Khufu's Solar Barque. Around the time Mark was alive back in Egypt in 2519 BCE, this boat was constructed and sealed into a pit beside the pharaoh's great pyramid.

Lowering his head again, Mark stared back at his vibrating hand. Then he looked back up at the boat. His jaw had dropped.

Keeping his gun gripped in his hand, he straightened himself up. Within a minute, this room would be swarmed with police officers. So, he wasted no more time.

He immediately ran forward towards the glass railing. Leaping into the air, he pushed his feet against the top of the railing to boost himself upwards. He crashed inside the boat, causing it to rock and shake upon impact.

Once he landed, Mark felt a sudden burst resonate from his hand before softening. He dropped his gun inside the boat as he held both of his hands in front of him. He could barely see straight as he gasped for air during the overwhelming panic.

The sketch of the solar boat was visible in his hand, only this time; it was moving. The boat's scarlet outline slowly sailed towards the right side of his palm. Once it reached the end, the boat's inscription transferred itself over to his right hand, continuing its voyage across. Finally, once it reached the end of his right hand, the boat vanished permanently.

That wasn't the end of it however. In its place, numbers carved themselves onto both his hands. Underneath his left hand was a symbol of the sun. Underneath his right hand was a symbol of the moon.

But what caught his eyes was the number being displayed.

"No."

A tear rolled down one of his eyes as his whimpering became apparent. By this point, several armed units charged through the room carrying rifles. They formed a perimeter around him. Some were above him by the railings, the rest were still below on the ground floor.

As for Mark; he had gone hysterical.

Everyone around him witnessed his cries of insanity as he screamed his lungs out. The sick and horrifying truth was at long last revealed to him, and it rendered him permanently unstable. This was worse than anything he was expecting.

Nobody could take a shot and execute him just yet. They didn't want to risk damaging the solar barge.

Finally, Mark's lunacy softened down. He was still hunched over, but he was now able to stand again. Before he could, he swiped the pistol from the wooden boards. Albeit difficult, he made it back up on his feet, now staring back at the countless officers that swarmed him.

His red eyes were practically swollen from the tears he shed and from the raw emotions he had released. Despite being screamed at to drop his weapon, a ringing in his ears prevented him from listening to anyone.

This time, he didn't need to think twice.

He raised the gun up to the side of his head.

He had no regrets.

He pulled the trigger.

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