The black sea of Nothingness surged like a vast, greedy mouth.The Death Realm was reduced to a single floating shard of rubble, a lone wooden plank at the center of the stage. The play had reached its final act, yet the audience remained—because they were never truly the audience. They were corpses strapped to chairs, eyes pried open, forced to "enjoy the show."
Ethan stood upon that plank, the last actor with no lines left.Nothingness raged, screaming and roaring, but to him it sounded only like a brass band of broken trumpets playing a funeral march. The irony, of course, was that the funeral wasn't for the Death Realm. It was for him.
"So," Ethan murmured, lips twisted into a grin, "the final joke's mine to finish."
He looked around.The last survivors were being dragged away inch by inch, their steps sinking into tar. Their faces had grown so hollow that even despair looked lazy. Some prayed, some cried, some bargained—trying to lease their souls as if Nothingness accepted contracts. The whole thing was absurd, like rush hour in a subway station where everyone shoved toward the exit, forgetting this train had no terminus.
Ethan, on the other hand, smiled like he'd just been released."Fate, huh? Turns out it's nothing but a temp worker contract."
He raised his hand. In his palm, the Nightmare Key gleamed—a burden, a toy, a candy-shaped relic that glittered black and gold. Sweet enough to choke a man to death.
"Nothingness wants a vessel, right? Then let it be me."He lifted the key high, like a failing student finally answering a question right, desperate for the teacher's attention.
For a moment, Nothingness hesitated, as though baffled by someone volunteering.Then came the laughter—a chorus of shredded throats forcing out mockery.
—"Do you think sacrifice will change anything? You're nothing but the stage's final clown."
Ethan nodded. "Exactly. And a clown's job is to turn out the lights after curtain call."
His body began to split—not in blood and bone, but in text.Sentences peeled off him, absurd lines of his past: mistakes, sarcasm, fears—all fluttering away as scraps of paper. He felt like a cheap paperback being ripped apart, cover and all, tossed into a fire.
The survivors stared. Someone shouted, "Don't!"But the plea sounded prerecorded, a hollow dub without conviction. They were too numb; even their protests felt like bureaucratic forms.
"Save your breath," Ethan replied, smiling faintly."See it for what it is—the greatest joke: we fought all these battles, survived all this chaos, and in the end, the one who saves the world isn't courage, isn't wisdom. It's just some guy willing to crawl into the trash bin."
The Nightmare Key sank into his chest.Nothingness pounced like a flood breaking its dam, engulfing him. But he did not scream. Instead, his dry laugh echoed in the black tide, beating against the hollow walls of eternity.
"Nothingness, you're no god… you're just garbage humanity refused to claim. Fine then. Let me be the trash can."
He spread his arms wide, surrendering to the dark.And for the first time, the endless hunger faltered. As if the monster's throat had been clogged. The world's collapse slowed. The abyss itself was forced into pause.
"You'll be shredded! Erased! Corroded by endless darkness!" Nothingness howled.
"Yeah, sounds like my résumé," Ethan chuckled deep in the tide."Used, discarded, broken. The only difference is—this time, it's my choice."
His laughter burst like a thunderclap.Darkness closed in. The Death Realm fell silent, the stage lights extinguished, leaving only the silhouette of one actor frozen at the curtain's fall.
—Ethan became the vessel sealing Nothingness.
No applause.Only a silence so deep it crushed the air. Yet within it, faintly, one could still hear his dry laugh, a ridiculous narrator's farewell:
"Thanks for watching. This show's over—no refunds."