Ode To Evil,chapter 3:carpet

on far side of hall,two doors,with image of armour and of sword,

locked,even a bullet could not penetrate through their board.

instinct told me, sword would lead me to Wesker and Jill,

"what happened to them,"came the thought with a chill.

images of Jill,being eaten by those things,raced in my mind,

gripping pistol and combat knife,the scarlet stairs I climbed.

" death will not set you free here,"captioned a painting on the landing,

depicted a women slitting her throat, a shadow over her standing.

I reached the door, that was above the sword below,

pistol and poised knife entered first,with body in tow.

through another door,I stepped on a patio,of stone railing,

a venetian parapet,overlooking forest of incessant dog wailing.

at the far end,slumped over the bannister in lifeless dangle,

Forrest from bravo,shredded and eviscerated in total mangle.

it looked as if his head moved,so I stepped forward for a pulse,

a crow, pulling out strings of brain through socket,in twitching convulse.

the bird spit and cackled,as it continued to lunch,

I threw it down,and stepped on it with a crunch.

it still fluttered its wings,sqwawking, dangling brains from its beak,

so I put a bullet in its face,and all its movement did cease.

making the mistake as Forrest,bestirring the crows from their trees,

they shot at me,like a thousand arrows,of black feather disease.

they clawed and pelted,knocking me through a window of glass,

like a sinking ship's compartment, hallway filled up with black.

hundreds of crows,smeared my blood over the puke green walls,

scratching me and screaming,with the force of niagra falls.

I crawled on the ground,and pulled my leather vest over my face,

gripped the knob of the door and pulled myself out of that place.

the door thudded and swayed,as if it was on a rocker,

the rapping and tapping,of a real "nevermore" stalker.

I could taste my blood,from the bludgeoning I took,

but unlike Forrest,my flesh escaped the crows hook.

I remember his corpse,there was no weopons for getting,

someone stripped him,after his feathered blood letting.

"what the fuck is this place,"my whisper blew a bubble of blood,

halls deep silence,broke,as I got up,with ruffling of exotic rug.

foyer's eerie calm,sped me on to the next door,with inward swing,

heavy door opened,I hid behind my sight post,as door hinged.

came out in middle of aisle, with blood drunken corpses standing,

under dim incandescents, gave there craniums a 9mm branding.

there heads exploded,like a blood gorged tick,

put to fire,with berreta as the matchstick.

bodies wiggled like sunfish,on soggy carpet,with splashing sound,

headless squirming blood soaked cadevers,I stepped around.

a double door,with a sword painted over on its crown,

inside,walls adorned with all sorts of swords pointed down.

in the center,a glass chest,with a skeletal sword key,that bade,

"enter the sword of the age,with the most blood on its blade."

to unlock the key,I needed to enter an edged weopon in the groove,

bayonets,templars,,rapiers,gladieus,curved daggers I could choose

I picked the latest,the bayonet of U.S military troops,

inserted it,poisonous gas emitted,in green poofs.

the exit locked with the sound of a medieval castle being barred,

I could feel my lungs burning,and my skin being scarred.

I made haste to the wall,picked the sword from the "age of reason",

a dueling rapier, jewl imbued,not for combat,crafted by an artesian.

the gas stopped,and the chest and door unlocked,

just in time,before my heart had stopped.

with possesion of key,I left the room with a new enemy to be aware,

among monstrous beasts-sadistic traps, riddled mansion's lair.

behind a door,palmprinted with blood,,moaning human esq,

was a call for "help,"a teamate-under duress.