Persphone of Apotheosis (a Hatchetfield fanfic)

Beckon, Thunderous Applause

He was just enjoying the view, or whatever view was left of his city. The Barricade was the last hope to save what remained of this part of town. That kind nurse just so happened to walk away as his weary eyes scanned the surroundings. He had seen it. How most of the adults had turned to the frozen river, and how the people, the Infected, encroached upon the sanctuary, some scaling up the wall, some having found the way in. Never had he heard anyone make a Christmas carol of such malevolence or something to strike fear in the hearts of men. He has undoubtedly seen much bloodshed in his own life, but still the carnage he observes brings back specific memories of the past. As screams rip through the air amidst the carolling that heralds death, the man known as Old Man Zackery, or Zac for short, steadies his rifle. He has seen how they sing in unison and seem most well-coordinated in their fervent dance. And this was no exception... except when someone on the Barricade caught his attention. Just right beside a particular man with an assault rifle, a man in a blue coat was chatting ... with a bird.

The sight was... bizarre. It stuck out like a sore thumb. These things... do they not sing as if they descended from the Heavens, yet dance as if they were demons? Besides the people in assault gear focused on firing their rifles, there was this random man, not singing, not dancing, but screaming at a rather animated bird with such a blue sheen. He sees him more clearly when he casts aside the fluffy blue coat, and clearly ... he seems different. The goo from this one was darker than he had seen before. He may be getting on his years, but at least his eyesight hasn't failed him yet. Had this been much like a chess game he had long left unfinished... this might just be the King piece. So he steadies his gun, keeps this man in his sights, takes a deep breath, exhales, and squeezes the trigger. "Checkmate".

Wiley has been sitting on top of a building since the massacre broke out, a shit-eating grin on his face as he sips from a bottle of whiskey. He knew it'd be only a matter of time until this happened, and by god it was brilliant. Finally, he and John were on the same side again! And even better, the winning side. The shot echoes through the air. A singular shot and the King tumbles down and breaks his crown. Paul falls from the top of the Barricade and lands in the snow with a crunch. Bleeding out from the expert bullet wound in his head and staining the white snow blue. "Ooohohohooo, shit," Wiley laughs gleefully, green eyes glowing as he sits up straighter.

The performance seems to have abruptly stopped the moment their Hive King was shot. John, from atop the practical wall of trash, stares down at the battered body of the Hive King at the foot of this structure, with no trace of a peculiar crow to be seen. Strange. He grips his gun tight. By now, he would expect the Singular Voice to punish him for not catching Paul or something (even though it would be impossible). In fact, that thing was right next to him, so if he were to receive his perdition, it would happen anytime now. But it was not coming. What came, however, as his fellow agents and he stared down was the person who called himself Mr Ken Davidson now bellowing, with a manic smile on his face. "Where is the critic? Let us chat!"

The Hive moves as one body, leaving their current task to swarm back to their King. They leave the dead uninfected and the dying with their guts strewn out over the ground, ignoring their own wounds. Some crowd around the Maestro's Shining Star, but most—oh, but most—begin to force their way into a clock tower building, bashing down the door and crawling over each other. They'd tear apart anyone inside if they could, but they have only one goal now.

The people in the building yell at them to get out. They try to fight back the Hive with blunt weapons or whatever they can get their hands on. But their attempts did not phase the Hive, as they finally reach where the gunner is. A random Hive person shouts in the building, "There he is!" Old Man Zac's eyes go wide as he turns his gun to these gooey fellows and starts to fire at them to try and keep them back from himself. The winter chill soon has him coughing harshly, causing him to pause his attempts at keeping them back. One hand pulls on his winter coat collar, another and another and another...