Work Text:
World’s End
Author’s Note: Enjoy the poem and R&R.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of the House of the Dead series.
Summary:
A poem based on the mission of the World, set during The House of the Dead 4.
A successor will come. Goldman’s pupa left its three-year cocoon, cradle of suicide’s true purpose.
Pandora’s Box is opening, a hell-blossom that buds for the agents’ fifty-floor descent onto Lake Cocytus.
They come to the final battle!!
The ultimate being declares no hope, an eight-winged, tri-bodied imperium encased in unthawing ice.
Expressionless Anisoptera, who lifts the hammer of death, a hatchet colder than post-life’s limp.
Pushed out the frozen pyramid. Crawling on hands from the underground facility’s secret cryo chamber.
Return them to their natural state. Regulate the population. Make obsolete the nuclear missiles.
Heat escapes, furthering adaptive metamorphosis. Sheds this insectoid husk to wear human skin.
Snow flowers effloresce. Frigid electrons circumgyrate around ovules of absolute zero.
Shivering lonesomeness. Silent despair benumbs the planet, consolidating retributive rage.
Dragons of ice, snaking like twin serpents. Spiralling disequilibrium. Airborne with inflexible teeth.
He won’t stop growing.
The frailer form splits, and from its ruptured cuticle, an unbeatable ruler hatches the corpse.
Saw-sparks backfire. Imperishable ecdysis. Compounding evolution.
Is there yet still hope? Can they finish? Achieve success? Or must they accept death with resignation?
James descried the result and sets his PDA to self-destruct, trading old wounds to reinstitute the future.
What should Kate do, now that concord has fallen, the night starless violet?
Embers blow uncertainly awhir the phoenixian pit.
He was the Beta version, born, exterminated, and reborn in cycles.
I can’t eliminate mankind, for it is done. What is it to eliminate mankind, but to give them false promise?
Hope is such a splendid thing.