Two crimson moons hung in the dark sky, their blood-red glow spilling over the gore-soaked battlefield below.
The battlefield itself was a horrifying grave, littered with the mangled corpses of both humans and monsters.
Their bodies sank into a river of blood, its thick metallic stench drifting endlessly across the desolate field.
From above, black crows descended in flocks, their wings thrashing against the silence as they feasted upon the corpses.
A single dark crow swooped downward, approaching a lone figure lying in the river of blood.
Before it could land and begin its feast, the seemingly lifeless figure suddenly stirred, forcing the crow to screech and fly away.
The figure's fingers twitched faintly, sending ripples coursing across the red river. A ragged, broken breath slipped past his lips.
Slowly, his eyes opened, reflecting the crimson glow of the twin moons above and the nightmarish gore spread all around him.
As the scene settled into his mind, a crushing sadness enveloped his heart.
His face twisted in agony, in pain, in helplessness.
His eyes burned red with a storm of anger and regret.
Gradually, he tilted his head, forcing his gaze across the gore-soaked battlefield.
The faces of his comrades, their bodies butchered and twisted into grotesque shapes, appeared in his vision.
The monstrous abominations he had fought with every ounce of strength to stop, hoping to prevent the end of humanity, also reared their dreadful images within his mind.
With the final fragments of strength left in him, he clenched his fist tightly and slammed it into the soaked ground.
The sharp jolt of pain shot through his arm, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging within his heart.
His effort.
His sacrifice.
All of it had gone to waste.
His comrades—the strongest players who had gathered together from across the globe to challenge the seventeenth chapter of the apocalypse—had been slaughtered.
The surviving monsters had already abandoned the battlefield, scattering like a plague across the world. By now, the downfall of humanity was already complete.
The realization struck him like a sharpened blade.
Humanity's worst nightmare, the very reality they had fought to resist for three long years, had finally arrived.
They had endured three years of hell, clawing their way through the first sixteen chapters of the apocalypse with blood, sweat, and tears. And yet, here at the seventeenth chapter, they failed, rendering all of their sacrifices meaningless.
'This was their plan all along. To watch humanity struggle, only to fail.'
The seed of hatred bloomed violently within his mind, and his thoughts erupted like wildfire.
'I bet those self-righteous heavenly bastards are having an orgasm right now!'
The same self-proclaimed gods who had designed this apocalypse, who had reduced the world's end into nothing more than a game, forcing every human to participate while they watched and reveled in their suffering from above.
'If only I could gain a second chance. If only I could restart everything armed with my present knowledge. Then maybe. Just maybe… humanity might actually stand a chance at beating the apocalypse.'
But deep down, he knew such a wish was only a fantasy.
His eyes remained open for a fleeting moment longer.
Then, the dizziness of death began to creep over him like a heavy fog.
His eyes blinked several times, struggling desperately to hold on a little longer.
But the dizziness only thickened.
The cries of the crows grew faint, his vision blurred into darkness.
At last, with a heavy sigh, he released his final breath. His eyes shut, never to open again.
On September 6th, 2033, Desmond Blackridge, along with thousands of players, failed the seventeenth chapter of the apocalypse and as punishment, Earth itself was lost.