The roar of the Void finally stopped.It was like an ancient air conditioner that had been running for thousands of years—someone kicked the power cord, and silence fell at once.
Ethan slowly lifted his head.Before him, the once-gaping Gate of the Void—the black sack that had devoured everything—was now closing bit by bit. It looked like the eyelids of an audience tired of a terrible play, yawning lazily as they shut.
Click.With a faint snap, the entire realm of Death fell silent. Even the air seemed to have been muted in one press—no birds, no wind, not even the courtesy of a cough.
"So quiet," Ethan muttered, grinning. His voice was jarring in the stillness. "Quiet like the entire human race got dragged into one giant group chat, and then everyone was muted by the admin."
He swayed unsteadily. His body was half-transparent, like a backup file waiting to be mistakenly deleted. Yet he remained standing, eyes open.This was the result of sealing the Void with Karl: the world survived, but the atmosphere was like the after-party of a funeral—awkward, joyless, painfully silent.
The skies of Death's domain, once layered abysses, were now replaced with jagged, lifeless puzzle pieces. They fit together but never formed a whole, like a child's sloppy homework collage. Each shard whispered: Something terrible happened here, but we've chosen collective amnesia.
The ground was no better.The wastelands were frozen; buildings stood like stage props glued in place, never to collapse again.The only moving figure was Ethan—an extra actor left alone on an empty stage.
He turned slowly, gazing into the distance.Where the Gate of the Void had been, only a black scar remained, as if a careless stagehand had burned the backdrop with a cigarette.
"So that's the Final Gate, huh?" Ethan laughed bitterly, staggering forward. "Sounds like some grand finale. But in reality? The world's firewall just shut down, and the system was forced to reboot."
He spat onto the ground, but what came out was transparent mist. It froze instantly, like a broken projector had paused his breath into a permanent still frame.
The silence was so heavy in Death's realm that even the human world felt it.Through the still skies, Ethan saw reality itself: people walking down streets with no footsteps, factories humming with no clash of metal. The world had become a silent black-and-white film, its sound stripped out by some careless editor.
"Perfect for a film festival," he scoffed. "If there's an award for Best Silence, we'd win for sure."
And yet, absurdly, he began to miss the chaos.He missed the Void's screams, the mock trials, even Karl's awful jokes. Now everything was "quiet." The world had been saved. But Ethan felt like a puppet left onstage after the show, bowing mechanically to an audience that had long since gone home.
He suddenly laughed."How ironic… Everyone fought for a peaceful world. And what we got? An empty shell so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat echo."
The ground quivered slightly.As if to remind him: Don't laugh too soon. This was only the first act of the Final Gate closing. The rest of the bill is yet to come.
Ethan tilted his head toward the sky, a ridiculous thought blooming inside him:What if this gate opens again?And when it does, will there be another poor fool who jumps in—replaying the same awful drama all over again?
He chuckled. That seemed exactly like humanity's style.After all, humans excel at repeating farces, even knowing how they'll end.
His laughter rang alone, like a cheap sound effect forced into the mute world.
"All right then," he muttered, dragging his fading body toward the scar left by the Gate. "If the show's over, I'll be the last audience."
Step by step, Ethan walked forward, merging with the black imprint.It was as though the world itself waited silently for his shadow to vanish.
—The Final Gate closed. Death's realm and the human world fell silent as one.