If the apocalypse so far had been a pilot episode, then now the human world had entered its final season. No subscribers, because everyone in the show is a background prop buying tickets to their own demise.
The earth cracked open — not small fissures but seams like someone used a giant bottle opener on entire continents. Cities shredded into pieces; skyscrapers snapped like potato chips and fell into black chasms.
"This is the last rift," Karl said softly, and his voice shook.
"'Last'? Dude, optimistic as ever — at this rate there'll be a special: 'Aftershocks: The Rematch,'" I sniped.
The sky ripped like worn cloth; nightmare tendrils drooped into human cities like fishing lines flung casually. Whoever got hooked turned into a pile of corrupted pixels — a grotesque human blue screen.
People screamed and ran; their panic sounded louder than any rock concert. Some knelt and prayed; some livestreamed—because, in the final seconds, everyone still craves likes.
"Look at them. They don't fear death," I said, pointing at streamers. "They fear not being noticed after they're gone."
Karl sighed. "This is humanity."
I snorted. "No. This is a joke. We live inside one; some still pretend it's serious."
The rifts widened. Oceans rolled into cities; ships were tossed like toys in a sky-borne maelstrom. The air tasted like burning rust — even breathing was like swallowing knives.
The Reaper didn't show his face again, probably stuck behind a mountain of paperwork. The Nightmare God's shadow grew sharper; hundreds of eyes opened overhead like an editor about to delete a whole civilization's draft.
"Can we stop it?" Karl asked, that last thin hope in his voice.
I shrugged. "I can barely stop mosquitoes from biting me. Stopping a cosmic bug is beyond my freelance skills."
An old woman stumbled forward through the ruin and fixed me with frantic eyes. "Key sir, you must save us!"
I blinked, then laughed. "You want hope from me? A guy who's behind on more debts than a bankrupt oligarch?"
She dropped to her knees. "At least you're here."
For a moment my black core sloshed. Karl whispered, "They know what you are — and yet they trust."
"Trust?" I laughed, bitter. "Humans are great at turning impossibility into hope. If reality gets too bleak, they hand over lies with both hands."
The sky trembled with a sound like glass being struck. Cracks mapped across the world and multiplied like crazed spiderwebs.
"So this is the final rift," I said, touching the air. Cold wind came through the seam, carrying the scent of death and nightmare.
Karl said nothing; he just stood beside me.
And in a ridiculous, terrible realization, I understood: perhaps the rift isn't merely a sign of destruction. Maybe it's the world reminding us that human society was always cheap glass — fragile and never solid.
I tipped my head back and laughed; the sound bounced between the collapsing heavens.
"Fine! If this world must break, let it break beautifully!"
Black energy blasted from me, threaded with the sky's cracks — a madman turning his graded paper into an origami plane before setting it aflame.
Maybe that's the only gift I can give humanity now: an ending that's absurd, despairing, and at least a miserable sort of comedic.