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HOW WILL THE world end?
You might think ice. Galaxies shrunken and shriveled by devastating permafrost. Cold so unbearably bitter that it burns white-hot, stars engulfed by black frost, burning to glacial chunks floating in inky waters. Dwarfed. Dissolved. Ravenous black holes tearing across the cosmos; insatiable, driven wild by the need to drain the universe of all life. An insatiable fervor infecting galaxy after galaxy until they are all drained of blood and left as sub-zero voids of the most interstellar blackness. Dimensions turned glacial. Everything cold and dark and dead.
You might say war. Mindless brutalities. Infinite destruction. Annihilation. Men turned to packs of wolves with their teeth and ambitions bared into fierce snarls, fangs dripping ruby red. Violence pouring through the cosmos like molten lava, infecting even the brightest of supernovae, pitting galaxy against galaxy. Colliding. Crashing. Chaotic to the very core. Energy stretched taut until it shatters like glass. Thirteen and a half billion years crushed to dust. Existence in ruination. History vanishing. Countless empires and regimes that have fallen and risen now trampled into nothingness. Creation was an explosion and life's final act is oblivion. As if none of it had never been real at all.
But the world has already ended once. Not by ice. Not even by war.
Cities set aflame. An entire planet slathered in gasoline. The match was struck by a single entity and she inhaled the smoke with a wild gleam in her inhuman eyes.
Hellfire devoured a little blue planet and razed it to ash. It was not men depraved of glory, nor was it the coldest and blackest interstellar. Instead it was a false god's judgement that fell from the skies like nuclear rain. Humanity had doomed themselves and this was their last burden and their final deliverance.
