Persphone of Apotheosis (a Hatchetfield fanfic)

Prologue

Stop.... stop it..... please... Paul pushes against his mind, clawing at the edges, internally screaming as his body wraps an arm around Emma's waist, a hand clutching her messy bun and pulling her head back; she's sobbing and crying, trying to push against his chest to keep away from him. Don't hurt her!! STOP!!! Don't make me hurt her! Paul forces a kiss against her lip, a deep, passionate kiss. However, it was indeed not himself.

Finally, the leading man of this musical gets to kiss his beloved romantic interest. The girl of his dreams, the leading woman. Pokotho savors the feeling of another mind convinced; another individual assimilated with himself. Speaking directly to Paul, the being sang praises for him, with the voices of many around him echoing the same praise. Stripped of their individualities, many voices laid to rest in the deep blue. "You've done so wonderfully, Paul. Look at her. Gaze upon your dear Emma Perkins, your Latte Hottay, your barista. Now she can sing and dance alongside you for all eternity."

Wishing he could stop smiling, Paul stares down at Emma. His arms are still loosely around her waist as her struggle ceases. For a moment, there is stillness, like a corpse. But a smile spreads over her face as she begins to sing softly. So softly, so beautifully that one would think she was an angel. A sob makes Paul's shoulder shake. You've killed her..

"It was inevitable, inevitable for us." The singing is like attempting to reassure the doubtfuls, or the doubtful rather, regarding their current situation in Clivesdale. Somehow, they crossed the Nantucket Bridge long ago to get there. Fuck Clivesdale, fuck 'em all. "She is/ I am now one of us, just like you, dear Paul."

The lanky man closes his eyes with some effort, an insignificant act of rebellion. But he can't bring himself to look at Emma in this state. Not with her being.... when he had... any action that is his own is forced and exhausting. Even to move a finger when the thing inside him wants his fists open. Just get it over with already! Please just kill me!

Paul, you know that yourself, I won't do that. A unique voice amongst the rest sounds out in Paul's head. The one that started everything by crash landing the mass of himself that may have been blasted to pieces... but has already leeched too deep into the earth. Or rather, was nigh indestructible. Paul's eyes are made to flutter open slowly, as Paul's hands open up slowly to hold onto Emma so that she isn't about to be dropped onto the floor. Adjust your feet, and bring her up to yourself. Smile at her; she's excited to see you.

No! I don't want to! That's not Emma! She's- Briefly, he considers if Emma was like himself, trapped in her mind. Were all the others like that? No, something was missing; he stared at her eyes, trying to see a semblance of life inside them. Any spark. They lacked a spark. Emma's eyes were glassy like a doll's. You killed her! Let go of me!! Stop it, please!

The being continues to guide Paul's body, with some resistance even when silencing Paul, moving those feet to start dancing, moving Emma's body to begin dancing. And opening her mouth to start singing. "Paul, this is Emma here, who played in Brigadoon, oh she's joined the party, and it's all OK. Ooh, baby do you know what that's worth? Ooh, heaven's a place on earth. They say in heaven love comes first, we'll make heaven a place on earth. Ooh, heaven's a place on earth."

Holding her body against himself, the two of them move in perfect unison, dancing in time to one another. The streets of Clivesdale were filled with songs and screams. In the distance, a police siren moves through the city. Whether they were human or Hive was another matter. "Emma, wake up, Emma, I'm here, Emma, don't concede. Fight Emma... fight for me." He sings out, a desperate melody on his lips.

He can't believe this. It's just two weeks in, and his star of the show is starting to sing with his own mind in it. It sounds nice; however... he keeps losing a little grip on one other person, but nothing more important than getting Paul, of ALL people, to follow his script... slowly, as always, he followed the script when they all came to greet Emma. He did follow it. Paul, it is a happy occasion. You all died and got reborn into a new world of harmony. The same has happened for dear Emma here, don't you worry.