Indiana Jones and the Second-to-Last Crusade

“Whew, Elsa, that was close, how did you manage to climb out of that pit and escape with me and my father?”

Elsa Schneider looks at Indiana Jones and fixes her tousled blonde hair. “It was the power of my love for you, Indie.”

Indiana turns to his father and smirks, but before he can turn back to Elsa she has already lunged forward to kiss him. Dr. Henry Jones raises his thick black eyebrows and rolls his eyes at Sallah and Marcus Brody, and the three older men scratch their heads and pretend to be distracted the the contours of the cliffs or the dust that is still rushing out of the collapsing temple behind them.

After several long minutes of passionate kissing, Henry Jones clears his throat. “Junior?”

Indiana stops kissing Elsa for a moment, but he doesn’t look away. “Not now, dad.”

“What happened to the grail?”

“Indie!” Sallah says. “Was it lost in that terrible cave-in?”

“I should certainly hope so!” Marcus Brody says. “Such an object has already led to the deaths of so many people, although many of them were asking for it, I should think—”

“It shaved one life, however,” Henry Jones says, rubbing the healed bullet wound under his shirt.

“It was not lost, Doctor Jones,” Elsa says. She pushes herself away from Indiana, unravels the grail from her sweaty, dusty uniform, and holds it before the four men, her eyes glowing. “No, it was not lost at all.”

The ancient wooden grail shines in the desert sun, and a heavenly chorus of angels seems to sing from somewhere on the other edge of the canyon.

“We should deshtroy it,” Henry Jones says.

“Verily,” Sallah says, “the grail is nothing but trouble!”

“But dad!” Indiana says. “That’s your life’s work, right there! We found it!”

“All that remains is to quaff of the immortal liquid within, and we will live forever!” Elsa lifts the grail and speaks to the white sky. “God obviously meant for us to find it, He meant for us to rule the world, our flesh impervious to bullets, our blood forever healing, forever everlasting—until the Second Coming!”

“God knows men were not meant to use such things,” Sallah says.

“That is precisely what I was going to say,” Brody says.

“I will share it with all of you,” Elsa says. “Then we can destroy it, to ensure that no one else can challenge our rule.”

“Thish ish a terrible idea,” Henry Jones says. “Sharing the planet with a beautiful Nazi. Junior, we have to—”

“Dad, how can you say that? The grail water already went inside your body! You’re probably immortal as it is!”

Henry Jones shakes his head. “That didn’t count, it wash jusht a flesh—”

“Let us test this hypothesis,” Elsa says, tucking the grail back into her uniform, pulling out a luger, and aiming it at Henry Jones. “Let me see with my own eyes if the grail is as powerful as the legends foretold.”

Henry Jones raises his hands and steps back, the other men rush to stop her, but it’s too late—Elsa fires once, twice, three times, and Henry Jones staggers back into the dust, the smoke rising from his body.

Indiana looks at his love, his face contorted. “Elsa!”

But Henry Jones turns over and throws the three bullets at the Nazi. She blocks them with her arm, laughs maniacally, holsters her pistol, and then takes out the grail again as Henry Jones stands and brushes the sand off his clothes.

“Come, my friends! Let us drink of the immortal fountain of life! None of us ever need fear death again! You already had a sip, Indie, did you not?”

Indiana Jones nods at Elsa, smirking, and then turns to his father. “Sallah and Marcus might as well join in, at least to keep us company in a few thousand years.”

“A few thoushand yearsh! Junior, I can barely shtand you now! After all thish woman hash done to ush, why, you’re practically a Nazi already, my own shon—”

“Dad, you know I hate Nazis, all of them except her, anyway.”

Elsa has already grabbed a canteen from a nearby horse, filled the grail, and taken a sip. She sighs, closes her eyes, and then hands the grail to Sallah.

He looks at Indiana significantly for a moment, and then he raises the grail with one hand, says “To Immortality!”, and takes a sip.

Marcus Brody does so as well, and then Elsa places the grail on the desert sand, strikes a match on her leather boot, and lights the dry ancient wood on fire. The grail vanishes into smoke and flames.

“Now no one will ever be able to contest our rule,” Elsa says, turning to the four men, all of whom seem younger, stronger, more muscular than before. “Come, my friends, let us march on Germany. Let us conquer the world.”

She raises her fist, Indiana bumps it, and after some groaning and eye-rolling from the other three men, they join in as well.

“To the Immortal Five!” Elsa shouts.

“The Immortal Five!” they shout after her.

Read the rest here and here.