Canticle of the End

There was a day once, not a special one, except that the Sky opened. The light was blinding and cold, and we were afraid.
Some were taken, or perhaps we were left behind.
Some were taken, but not many.
Some wept, or prayed, or trembled, but not many.

Most looked in reptilian scrutiny at the sky, and wondered or fought about what it was, or what it meant.
Then, a Voice rang out from the stars, or maybe from our hearts, cold and terrible as the Light; big as the Sea.
"So it begins!" it cried. "Tremble!"
And the Sky closed, and life went on. The taken ones were missed, but ours is a practical race. Some stared expectantly upwards, but the skies were silent, and we continued.
And then the Ground opened, and nothing was ever silent again.

The day the Gates broke we should have known; should have seen the Horsemen's coming.
The seas rose and covered the Cities of Men; and when the sea was gone came the Giants of legend, who woke the Dragons of the Earth and made war on those of us who were left.

We knew then that we had been left behind. And that no one is coming.

Revelation, Armageddon, Ragnarok, the End of Days: call it what you will, but it has come.
All that Man has wrought will be undone. All we have built will be torn asunder. We cannot stop what is coming, we cannot repent, for that time has come and gone. All we can do, all we can hope is to survive.

I am not a holy man, but I am a strong one, and I know right from long. We must now be our own avenging angels, in every hand a flaming sword, on every brow a crown of thorns.
And whatever happens between now and the End; when it is over, when the Sun finally dawns on the Longest Night. . .
I will be standing.
Will you?