The Realm of Death never intended to be an audience. It always prided itself on cold detachment.But this time, it was forced into the role.
Because the stage was too loud—so loud even the scythes complained.
Beneath the pitch-black dome, Ethan and his "friend" stood opposed.One ignited by the Nightmare Key, the other completely devoured by the Void.Neither was human anymore, yet both still wore those ill-fitting human skins.They looked less like gods and monsters, more like two overworked office dogs fighting at 3 a.m. over the last broken desk lamp.
"You know," his friend said, voice echoing with the chorus of every dead soul,"You've never beaten me."
Ethan shook his head and laughed, the kind of laugh cheap liquor leaves in your throat."Funny. I never even beat you in chess. And now you're challenging me to see who's better at ending the world?"
The guardians of Death exchanged uneasy glances.They'd never seen a duel like this.The old clashes were always solemn: blades flashing, souls burning, fate trembling.But this? This was absurdist stand-up comedy. The stage: slabs of hellstone. The microphone: tendrils of the Void.
His friend struck first.He raised his arm, and a black ripple detonated, draining the sky like a cinema screen gone blank."The Void isn't a weapon. It's the result," he said."And you, Ethan—you're just the overture."
The blast nearly tore Ethan apart. But he held himself together with laughter."The overture? Fair enough. Then let me be the drunk drummer. The Void's symphony deserves its finale—but too bad the audience is just a bunch of grim reapers and overcooked souls."
The Nightmare Key spun in his chest, flaring with light.Not holy light—no, it flickered like a neon sign in a seedy night market: peeling paint, misspelled words, cheap buzz."MEGA SALE — VOID HALF PRICE!"The air itself trembled, as if Death's realm had just cracked a smile.
His friend roared.Countless hands of the Void burst from the ground, clawing to drag Ethan down.Ethan only reached out and patted the air."Not now. I still haven't paid rent."
Then came the counterattack.He turned fear into a weapon: a massive receipt unfurled across the heavens.On it: humanity's debts, shames, and anxieties.
—Loan interests.—Wedding contributions.—The suffocating knowledge that no amount of effort buys a school district apartment.
The Void froze.For the first time, it shivered—because no terror was purer, more eternal, than the terror of unpaid bills.
"You see?" Ethan rasped, his voice like a dull blade on iron."Even the Void fears debt collectors."
The ground cracked apart, the Realm of Death unraveling under their clash.His friend—nothing left but a hollow puppet of the Void—spat in a rasp,"You think you can win? The Void isn't your enemy. It is everything."
Ethan licked his lips, like a failed comedian preparing one last joke."Everything? Wrong. The Void has no punchline. I am the punchline."
The Nightmare Key exploded into distorted light, magnified into a cosmic neon banner:
——"CONGRATS! WORLD-ENDING CLEARANCE SALE!"
BOOM!
The whole realm was sucked into storm. Scythes spun like overturned frying pans in a restaurant kitchen.And at the center, only two silhouettes clashed:A hollow shell of a friend.A man laughing until his tears ran dry.
It wasn't victory they fought for.It was the right to deliver the final absurd line.
And Death's realm—supposed to be solemn and eternal—was reduced to a shabby theater hosting…
An ultimate showdown so ridiculous it made the apocalypse laugh.