You drive the shard of metal into Vile’s frail body. He collapses with a strangled cry, eyes wide with both pain and a strange relief, as if he had been waiting for this. His form crumples into the tangle of wires and screens, sparks flickering as the hum of the facility shifts into a low, uneasy drone.
With trembling limbs, you drag yourself back to the cryopod. The hatch groans as you climb inside, the glass sealing shut with a hiss. Cold wraps around you, numbing, familiar—promising return to the E.D.N.
But then the cold deepens. It is not sleep. It is not escape. It is suffocation. Your chest tightens, your thoughts unravel. You pound on the glass, desperate for release. Echoes answer. Nothing more.
From the darkness, a voice crackles through hidden speakers—the same voice you thought you silenced.
“You didn’t input the right sequence. Surely you didn’t think you could just climb back into this system?”
Your voice breaks, hoarse, pleading—calling, begging, screaming. But the silence grows heavier. The air thins. Breath comes in ragged gasps until it comes no more.
And then—only blackness.
Yet within the E.D.N., untouched by the horror of reality, the countless souls remain. They will never know the truth of your end. To them, you are the one who rose beyond the limits of man, who struck down Vile, the dark god of secrets. A hero. A legend. A martyr.
But here, in the quiet tomb of your cryopod, there is no light. No hope. Only the price of victory.