Dark, tenebrous things burst forth from the cracked ground.
She drew her twin pistols, Regret and Recompense, and began firing.
She had unleashed these dread things that would devour the Earth, this was her fault. And this was not a war she could win, she was under no illusions, but she could show humanity that a stand could be made. She could give mankind a fighting chance.
Her guns ran dry and she threw them aside.
She drew her knife.
“I name you, Hope,” she said, kissing the blade.
And thus did Pandora die. And thus was her legend born.