On screen.
Episode 4. The Fall of Civilizations.
The new episode began with triumphant music, the kind usually played at parades. The familiar monster emblem appeared on the screen, along with the words "Ruinfilm Presents," which changed to "Coronation Day." Then the screen went dark.
"On May 14, 1945, a new king ascended the throne in the kingdom of monsters."
The voiceover continued: On this day, His Majesty Prince Azgor Drimur and his wife, Her Majesty Princess Toriel Drimur, were crowned. A photograph of two monsters appeared on the screen. To the surprise of the audience, they did not look scary or threatening at all — on the contrary, their faces radiated warmth and kindness, as if they were benevolent guardians of their people.
According to the announcer, the coronation took place in a majestic cathedral that towered over the central square of the capital. The camera showed the building itself. The cathedral, as if carved from light-colored stone, stood proudly above the city. Its architecture combined austerity and refined beauty, as if emphasizing the grandeur of the monsters and their culture.
The announcer said that from that day on, the kingdom would be under the protection and wise rule of its new ruler, King Azgor I. Finally, he offered a prayer to the Lord.
To the sounds of ceremonial music, the unfurling flag of the kingdom appeared on the screen. This was followed by footage showing various corners of the country. First, a city with spacious streets and houses decorated with festive garlands. Then the camera switched to the Core, the huge heart of the underground world, intertwined with pipes and steam mechanisms. The change of shots was reminiscent of old state chronicles, where symbols of the country's power and culture flashed between images of the flag proudly flying. Then, finally, the inscription appeared: "Long live King Azgor." After that, the image jerked as if the film had jammed in an old projector, and the screen went dark.
But only for a couple of seconds.
There was a sudden interference, reminiscent of an old TV malfunction, and the audience was suddenly shown a fire. The fire consumed everything in its path, the flames rising high. The sounds of alarms, the roar of fire sirens, and cries of despair merged into a chaotic din.
But the image abruptly cut off, replaced by a black screen with the words:
"The fire is too strong."
A second of silence — and then more footage of the raging flames. The camera shakes as if filmed by an eyewitness. Then the message reappears:
"We don't have enough water or time to extinguish it."
After these words, the screen returned to chaos. But this time, the message that interrupted the image was much longer:
"We could take water from the Waterfall, because there is enough water in this region to extinguish a fire twice as large as the one we are facing. Damn it, the whole dungeon should be helping us extinguish the fire, but NO! The king won't let us take water from the Waterfall because it 'wastes water reserves in the neighboring region.' And that 'this fire isn't that dangerous, and that we, the residents of Hotland, are exaggerating'. Does he even see what's happening here? The whole of Hotland has turned into one huge bonfire! Everything is burning! Even the nearby lands of Waterfall and Ruins are on fire! But this bastard is hiding in his palace and can't see what's happening! He probably doesn't even suspect that soon this whole disaster will affect every living creature here..."
Interference began and an inscription appeared;
"1 week after the explosion."
Universe: My little pony.
The first world was tough, to say the least, but it all ended relatively well, and with that, the first world came to an end. All the inhabitants of Equestria gradually began to return to their former routine. Over the past few days, the ponies had already gotten used to the screens. And when the screen announced the start of a new screening, the ponies were more curious than wary. and when the timer reached zero, everyone was shown a poster with a terrifying monster that was horrible in every way. Needless to say, the ponies froze in horror, tensing their whole bodies, unable to move, only uttering incoherent words.
Thank goodness the broadcast began, and they no longer had to look at the monster. However, more horrors awaited them ahead. Starting with how the new world was shown, and ending with the moment when two non-ponies were devoured, the final nail in the coffin of their mental state was the monster's eyes. They looked absolutely hungry, as if they were staring right at them, ready to jump out of the screen at any moment and devour all the ponies.
After that, everything went pretty... harmlessly. They were introduced to the monsters, told about their achievements, their remarkable physiology, and the creation of the CORE. But during the story, the ponies couldn't shake an uneasy feeling, as if an invisible shadow hung over this world. And this premonition came true when they showed footage of the burning CORE.
Furthermore, the very title "The Fall of Civilizations" only reinforced the idea that the joy and tranquility in this world were only a temporary illusion, hiding tragedy.
The ponies glanced at each other involuntarily as the announcer concluded his speech in a solemn and hopeful voice. His words conveyed pride in the monster people and faith in their future... but every pony already understood that this hope was not destined to come true.
"He... has no idea that everything is about to collapse," Twilight said quietly, lowering her ears.
"They looked so... harmless," Fluttershy whispered, almost crying. She was more shocked than anyone else by what she had seen, almost to the point of a nervous breakdown. "The king and queen, they seemed so kind."
When they were first shown, they, like all the ponies, couldn't believe their eyes. The monsters, previously portrayed as beasts devouring their victims, were now shown as good-natured creatures whose faces radiated light and warmth. It was too much of a contrast. It seemed that this world did not deserve the horror that was about to befall it.
"I... I feel sorry for them," Pinkie Pie whispered, which was rare for her. She usually knew how to find joy even in the darkest moments, but now her blue eyes were full of anxiety. "They looked so happy at that coronation."
"But if everything started so well, why is the title of this 'episode' so gloomy?" Rarity frowned, looking away from the screen. "The Fall of Civilizations... It sounds like a death sentence."
"Maybe it's just the title..." Fluttershy tried uncertainly, but her voice trembled, and she immediately pressed her ears against her head. "Although... probably not."
"I feel like something is about to happen," Twilight muttered, watching each frame intently. "These screens aren't showing everything by accident. First, they scared us with terrible images so that we would see the monsters as soulless beasts, and now they are revealing their true story... the reasons that led to those terrible consequences."
The screen showed the royal flag again, with buildings flashing by to solemn music.
"If something happens to them..." Rainbow Dash frowned, clenching her teeth. "It would be unfair. They don't deserve anything bad."
"It seems that in other worlds, life is rarely fair, dear," Rarity said bitterly. "But why are they showing us this? Why do these screens want us to see this?"
Applejack frowned and adjusted her hat.
"Maybe so we understand that even the strongest and kindest can lose everything if they're not prepared."
Applejack's words hung in the air like an omen of doom. The screen suddenly changed frames—the solemn scenes disappeared as if washed away, and disturbing images flashed before the ponies' eyes: a forest engulfed in flames, the sound of sirens.
"This doesn't bode well," Twilight said anxiously. "Look at that fire..."
Then the picture darkened, and flashes of fire flickered across the screen.
"The fire is too strong," appeared in writing, like a blow to the viewers' nerves.
Fluttershy let out a quiet squeak and hid behind Rainbow Dash's hooves.
"No... not this..."
"It looks like we're about to see the worst," Applejack sighed heavily.
Universe: HorrorTale
Sans sat with his head resting on his arm, leaning against his stand. His eye sockets glowed with a dim red light. He stared grimly at the screen showing the coronation of Azgor and Toriel. It brought back long-forgotten memories of those days when the dungeon had not yet descended into madness. When food wasn't the main goal, and Papyrus' laughter sounded sincere, not trembling with hunger. Sans frowned harder, the red light in his eye sockets dimmed, as if he was trying to drown out the memories. The most annoying thing was the inability to remove the screen. Forcing him to watch what was happening on it, of course, he could try to knock himself out in order to escape into a safe oblivion, but Sans was not that crazy.
His hand almost instinctively grabbed the cleaver and tried to cut the screen in two, but as expected, the weapon passed through without leaving even a scratch. Sans slowly lowered his hand with the cleaver, muttering a curse under his breath.
"Of course..." he croaked. "That would be too easy, wouldn't it?"
He stared at the screen again, where the happy faces of Azgor and Toriel beamed with joy on the day of their coronation. Their kind eyes, smiles, the sparkle of stained glass, and the bright ceremony seemed like a mockery of him—of his hungry, rotting reality.
"Heh..." Sans ran a hand over his face, leaving dirty smudges on his white bone. "Look at them, brother. Clean... well-fed... still believing their world will always be this way."
There was a creaking of bones behind him — Papyrus hesitantly moved closer, hugging himself around the shoulders.
"B-brother... I... I don't know if I want to see this..." His voice trembled like a leaf in the wind. "They're... so kind..."
Sans glanced at him slightly.
"Exactly. Too kind to survive."
On the screen, the announcer proudly described the kingdom of monsters, his voice sounding too cheerful for Sans's ears. In the background, images flashed by: the majestic cathedral in the central square, the clean streets of the capital, the sparkling CORE... Sans listened and smiled crookedly.
"Heh... pretty pictures. Clean streets, well-fed faces. Everything we no longer have. But... That joy quickly fades," Sansa muttered, his voice sounding hollow and tired. "First you build the CORE, rejoice that you have energy... and then it collapses.
And as if to confirm his words, the idyll on the screen changes abruptly, showing a fire, along with inscriptions in between. Most likely, these are the words of the monsters who had to put out the fire. Sans ran his hand over his face and began to giggle, which gradually turned into full-blown laughter. Sans' laughter was dry and crackling, as if he were laughing not out of joy, but out of pain, out of hopelessness. He bent over his stand, shaking with his own laughter.
"Ha-ha-ha... that's it!" he croaked, gasping for air. "Look, brother! Look how quickly their paradise is crumbling!"
Papyrus stood behind him, his empty eye sockets widening in horror, barely breathing.
"B-brother... this isn't funny..." his voice broke into a rasp. "They... they're dying... everything's burning..."
Sans abruptly stopped laughing, a dim red glow lighting up his eye sockets once more. He glanced at Papyrus and leaned back, breathing heavily.
"I know, brother... I know. It's just that sometimes it's easier to laugh than... to feel something breaking inside again."
The screen showed another message, but this one was long, accusing Azgora of incompetence. The monsters reacted to it... dimly, with only quiet bitterness for the times when the dungeon was not a ruin, full of the smell of rot and blood. No one was surprised by the words on the screen — their hearts had long been empty.
Sans looked back at the screen, where images of burning Hotland were flashing, and smiled grimly, almost in a whisper:
"Welcome to the real world, folks."
Meanwhile, Toriel sat in a dark corner of her dilapidated kitchen, hunched over in an old chair. The dim light from the screen illuminated her face, making her features look even more sickly. Her empty, tired eyes barely blinked, and her clawed fingers clenched the worn fabric of her clothes.
On the screen, she shone—a different Toriel. Majestic, kind, with a gentle smile, standing next to Azgor. Her eyes glowed with warmth, her hands were clean, and her dress was beautiful. She looked so... beautiful... so happy.
"Is that... me?" Toriel whispered hoarsely, pressing her paw to her chest.
Everything inside her tightened. Memories flashed before her mind's eye of a time when she too had been like that — loving, caring, dreaming of a future for all monsters. When she could smile at children and bake pies... until everything was destroyed.
She flinched when the screen showed the CORE and happy monsters celebrating their achievements. Her own broken laugh rang in her head, quiet and empty.
"Naive... stupid..." she muttered, clenching the mug until it cracked. "You don't know what's coming yet..."
Universe: Deltarun.
The small cafe "QC Snack Bar" in the city was quiet. Only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional clatter of dishes broke the usual evening silence. Above the counter, suspended in midair, a screen flickered, showing horrific events.
Chris sat on a high stool, his legs tucked under him, staring at the screen. His face remained as impenetrable as ever, but his hand gripped the edge of the counter tightly, especially when his parents, Toriel and Azgor, were shown on the screen for the first time. They stood in royal robes, smiling, radiating kindness and pride.
When the rulers of the monsters from the dungeon were shown on the screen for the first time, Chris stared blankly at the screen, completely unprepared to see alternative versions of his parents there. Azgor and Toriel looked majestic on the screen: royal robes, crowns, kind smiles... And even though his mind understood that these were other members of the Drimur family, not his parents, his heart still ached.
"What?" whispered Suzy, rising from her chair and squinting at the screen. "Those are... your... well... they're... your parents, right?!"
Chris blinked and slowly shook his head.
"No. Not them... they just... look alike."
In fact, he felt strange. He felt a heaviness in his chest, as if someone had mixed it all together: longing for the times when they were together, pride that they were being hailed as rulers of an entire underground world, and awkwardness about the situation. Seeing his own parents as a royal couple from another world seemed wrong, as if the screen was deliberately playing with their minds.
"This is nonsense..." she muttered, squinting at the bright screen where the announcer proudly proclaimed the coronation of the monsters.
Images flashed across the screen: a bright cathedral, clean streets, the CORE
But the longer it went on, the more tense the viewers became.
"They look... so happy," Noel said quietly, standing a little behind. She wrapped her arms around her tail, trying to calm her anxiety. "And... so kind."
"Kind, yeah," Suzy muttered. "I wonder how many minutes it will take for all this to turn into a living hell?"
Chris remained silent, his eyes fixed on the screen.
Suddenly, the images changed. The bright world, full of hope, dissolved in fire and smoke. A huge fire broke out, and between the images, captions appeared:
"The fire is too strong."
"We don't have enough water or time to extinguish it."
Susie dropped her straw and sat up straight.
"See... I told you so."
Noel covered her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.
"They... they're all in there..." She fell silent, unable to finish.
With each new frame, the screen showed increasingly chaotic scenes: burning buildings, running monsters, clouds of smoke. Finally, a long inscription appeared in which the monsters accused their king of incompetence and indifference.
Chris frowned, clenching his fists. He didn't like the words written there.
"Yeah, looks like it's all going to end badly for them. I don't like this kind of thing." Suzy looked away nervously. "It's too similar to... what could happen to us."
The screen displayed the words:
"1 week after the explosion."
On the screen.
Instead of the usual camera movement, two still images suddenly flashed on the screen. Like with those cavers and the sheriff.
On the left was Azgor. He stood in his ceremonial robe, decorated with medals, his gaze stern but weary.
On the right was Toriel, dressed in a strict robe that did not match her usual gentle appearance. She was not smiling either and looked exhausted. But most notably, her small horns and ears hanging down on either side of her head were very similar to those of the monster at the gate.
For a second, clear captions appeared at the bottom:
King Azgor the First.
Queen Toriel Drimur.
But that wasn't the strangest thing. Below their names was a date, hinting at their birth: 1945.
But then nothing. A void, as if someone deliberately did not want to tell what happened next.
Azgor, noticing the fatigue in his wife's eyes, quietly asked if she was okay.
Toriel shook her head. For the past two weeks, she had been trying unsuccessfully to find a solution that could somehow remedy the situation, but no worthwhile ideas had come to mind. Her voice trembled with fatigue and irritation.
Azgor tried to calm her down, saying that she shouldn't exhaust herself so much and that she needed to rest, adding that she looked exhausted. But these words only made their conversation more tense.
Toriel, holding back her emotions, replied that rest was impossible at the moment. She asked if Azgor understood what was happening: the Core had been destroyed, two-thirds of Hotland had been burned in fires and destroyed by explosions. The situation was exacerbated by a wave of refugees—the entire Underworld was suffering from an immigration crisis. The inhabitants of Hotland were stuck at the border of the Capital, and there were too many of them, which led to clashes between them and the guards.
And as if that weren't enough, without the Core, there is now a catastrophic shortage of magic. There is no way to generate electricity, filter the air, or produce food. Everything is falling apart, and there is no solution yet.
Azgor tried to ease her anxiety, cautiously noting that food could be created without the Core.
But Toriel cut him off sharply, her voice becoming cold and harsh. She reproached her husband for not understanding the full depth of the situation, calling him naive and even ignorant. She reminded him of electricity, without which it is impossible to produce anything vital. Reports were coming in one after another: monsters in the most remote corners of the Underground were already starving due to the loss of connection with the Core and the shutdown of energy systems. And all this, according to her, should have been the king's concern — but instead, she was forced to rack her brains over a solution alone.
Azgor, holding back his irritation, retorted that he was not idle. He had already organized refugee camps and evacuation zones in Hotland to reduce the number of victims and stabilize the situation in some way.
But these words only fueled her anger even more.
Toriel raised her voice, her speech becoming sharp, almost accusatory. She demanded an answer: had he ever thought about where they would get coal, how to restore electricity, and how to save the monsters from impending starvation?
"Azgor, look at me!" Her voice broke, and for the first time in a long time, it sounded genuinely pained.
Only then did it become clear: her exhaustion was not just a result of fatigue. She had consciously eaten less — almost starving herself — just so that Chara and Azriel could get a little more food.
Azgor froze, unable to find the words. Toriel continued, growing more and more heated:
"You didn't even think about trying to make sure everyone could eat as much as they needed! I'm trying with all my might to save at least someone, and you..." Her voice faltered, but then broke into a cry. "And you seem to not care about your people!"
Before the argument could go any further, another voice was heard. It belonged to a child. The voice asked what was going on. Azgor replied that nothing was wrong and told her to go to bed. Then he told Toriel that he would evacuate everyone from Hotland, then order the Korodlev scientists to find a solution to repair the Core.
Toriel responds more calmly, but sadly, saying that she would like to believe that.
Universe: Danmachi.
In the dim light of the hall, the faces of those gathered were illuminated only by the light of the screen. Bell sat leaning forward, his eyes fixed on the quarrel between Azgor and Toriel. Every shout, every accusation pierced him like needles. He saw in Toriel not only a mother, but also a person pushed to the limit.
Hestia frowned, her palms clenched into fists.
"How could this be allowed to happen... For the queen herself to go hungry so that her children could eat. And he, her husband... acts as if none of this is his fault.
Her voice was unusually serious. Behind the cheerful and lively goddess, something more was now visible — stern concern, duty.
Lily looked coldly, her lips trembled, and she said quietly but sharply:
"What did you expect? They're kings. They always think that words and promises can feed people. But hunger doesn't go away with pretty speeches."
Bell turned to her, slightly stunned by her tone, but Lily did not take her eyes off the screen. Her eyes burned with the fire of memories — hunger, dark alleys, days when crumbs of bread seemed like salvation.
"I know what it's like. When adults argue and children lie on the ground because they are too weak to stand up.
"Lily..." Bell breathed softly, but she shook her head.
"No, Bell. She's right. This woman. She's desperately trying to get through to him, but he can't hear her. For him, it's politics; for her, it's her family's life.
Hestia frowned, her voice hardening.
"But it's not that simple. He's trying too. There's hope in his words—he's trying to find a way out. Isn't that important?"
Lily looked up at the goddess, her words tinged with anger:
"Hope doesn't fill stomachs. You can't feed children with hope. Goddess Hestia, could you look at your children if they were starving and say, 'Wait, everything will be fine'?
The words hung heavy in the air. Bell clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He looked at the arguing figures, then back at the screen, where the child's voice was filled with fear.
"The child heard everything..." His voice faltered. "He heard his parents arguing."
He fell silent, feeling his insides churn. Lily lowered her head, hiding her gaze, but her shoulders trembled slightly. Hestia closed her eyes, as if trying to calm her own emotions.
The room fell silent. Everyone felt that this was more than just a scene on the screen. It was a reminder that sometimes the deepest wounds are not inflicted by battles with monsters.
Universe: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba.
The room where Tanjiro, Nezuko, Zenitsu, Inosuke, and Kanao had gathered was filled with tension. The screen continued to show Toriel, her weary image, her words full of sadness, and Azgora.
Tanjiro froze, his face darkening. He clenched his fists tightly, feeling his heart tighten with pain. "She... she eats less so her children won't go hungry," he whispered, unable to hold back the tremor in his voice. No one should have to suffer like that.
Nezuko quietly moved closer to her brother. She couldn't speak, but her eyes, full of anxiety, clearly reflected her own memories. The loss of family, the pain and helplessness — she felt it in Toriel. Tanjiro gently placed his hand on her head, understanding without words.
Zenitsu paled and fidgeted nervously when he saw Toriel break down. "She's so kind, and she has to torment herself for the sake of others... it's... it's terrible!"
Inosuke growled at the screen. "Tsk! Stupid man!" he barked, referring to Azgor. "He should have figured out how to save everyone right away, instead of sitting around and waiting!" There was rudeness in his words, but behind it lay rage at the injustice. "She's strong! She's fighting! And he... he thinks everything will work itself out!" Enraged, Inosuke slammed his fist on the floor as if he wanted to break through the screen.
Kanao sat slightly to the side, silently watching the screen. Her slender fingers clenched the coin she always carried with her. Her chest ached when she heard Toriel break down, tired and almost desperate. "She... she seemed so... kind," Kanao thought, feeling her own painful memories. She wanted to say something, but the words seemed to be stuck in her throat.
Meanwhile, Inosuke looked as if he was about to jump into the screen, smashing it with his fist. His friends tried to hold him back and calm him down.
"Are you crazy?! It's another world! We don't even know how to get there!" Zenica squealed, but there was no usual hysteria in his voice, only... helplessness.
"Let me go! Benitsa, I'm going to get this Azror..."
"Azror?!" Zenica almost cried out in horror and despair, continuing to hold Inosuke back. "His name is Azgor! Az-gor! And you won't even get there! We already discussed this when we showed you the first world, remember?!"
"I don't care!" Inosuke barked, his muscles bulging with tension as he literally dragged both of them, trying to break free. "I'll smash his sheep's head into the dust! How dare he make her suffer like this?! He's their king! Why is she doing what he should be doing?!"
Tanjiro, holding him back from the other side, spoke more calmly:
"Inosuke! It's not that simple... I'm angry too, but..." His voice broke, and he clenched his teeth, remembering his own mother. "I understand how she feels... But Azgor isn't standing still, he's trying to do something too!"
Inosuke froze for a moment.
"What?"
Tanjiro clenched his teeth and sighed heavily, trying to restrain Inosuke and explain the truth to him at the same time:
"Inosuke... I understand your anger... But Azgor is trying to do things his own way. He has already given orders, organized refugee camps to save people, and instructed scientists to repair the CORE. All of this is being done, albeit slowly.
Inosuke shook his head sharply, his posture betraying his rage, but his voice betrayed his confusion:
"I don't understand... If he had just allowed us to take water from the Waterfall, no one would have been hurt! All this could have been prevented!"
Zenica, fidgeting nervously, squeezed Inosuke's shoulder:
"We know you're right... but we can't change the past. We can only... only hope that he will fix the situation now."
Tanjiro lowered his eyes to the floor, his voice softening:
"I know it's hard... But anger and accusations won't help anyone now. He's doing the best he can, even if it's not perfect."
Inosuke fell silent for a moment, breathing heavily, his eyes darting between the screen and his friends. It seemed as if anger was fighting with understanding, but the pain for others — for those who suffer because of actions or inaction — would not let him go. Finally, after a few tense seconds, he calmed down, letting out steam from the nostrils of his boar head, and sat down abruptly. Tanjiro noticed Inosuke's muscles gradually relaxing and his breathing becoming more even. He carefully loosened his grip, keeping his eyes on his friend.
Inosuke exhaled, muttering quietly under his breath:
"All right... I'll wait... But if anyone else gets hurt..."
Tanjiro nodded gently:
"We will be there for them, even if the distance between worlds is vast."
Universe: My Hero Academia.
An unusual silence reigned in the U.A. dormitory. The Class A students, gathered on the first floor for a new "other world viewing session," sat in tense anticipation. Every glance kept sliding to the flickering screen that hung in the air, forcing them to witness the tragedies of others. Even the usually noisy and cheerful kids were consumed with anxiety: some clenched their fists, some crossed their arms over their chests, and some simply leaned on the table, unable to look away. The air was thick with uncertainty and hidden fear, because it was clear to everyone that what was about to be shown would not be a simple spectacle. The seconds dragged on like hours as the screen projected the horrific events.
Izuk Midoria sat on the edge of the sofa, his hands clasped on his knees, his gaze fixed on the screen. His green eyes, usually full of determination, now wandered between the frames: Toriel, tired and exhausted, Azgor, trying to make decisions, the Core, destroyed by fire.
"It can't be..." Izuku muttered, his voice barely audible, trembling with tension. "She... she eats less so her children can eat more... And he... he doesn't see the whole picture."
Uraraka sat nearby. Her hands trembled as she nervously fidgeted with her fingers, as if it could keep her from crying.
"Midorika... that's terrible..." Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "I... I couldn't handle that."
Bakugo, who usually burst into screams and accusations, was surprisingly silent. His eyes narrowed to slits, his lips pressed together.
"Damn..." he muttered, clenching his fists. "That Azgor... thinks he can control everything... But he has no idea what's really going on..."
Todoroki, sitting on the edge, stared at the screen calmly, but his usually calm eyes betrayed a hint of anxiety:
"Everything is falling apart too quickly. If only they could have assessed the consequences in advance..."
Izuku turned to them, his voice slightly trembling but firm:
"We can't just sit and wait. If this were our world... we would act to save everyone. We have to think about what we can do here, even if the distance between the worlds is enormous."
On the screen, Toriel said almost desperately that she wanted to believe that, which was especially terrifying, because the moments shown earlier clearly hinted that the outcome for them would be catastrophic. The events shown earlier and the very title of the episode left no hint of a happy ending. The U.A. students felt the full weight of the situation, each in their own way — with anxiety, anger, helplessness, and at the same time determination that if they found themselves in this world, they would do everything possible to save the innocent.
On screen.
"Two weeks after the explosion."
The music of a news channel began to play. The emblem of the monsters was displayed on a blue background. Then, after a couple of seconds, the words "MBC NEWS" appeared at the bottom. Next, a rectangular robot with a front panel instead of a face appeared on the screen. At the bottom of the panel were neat cells or buttons, and below them were four dials. Its thin metal arms held a sheet of paper. It played the role of a news anchor. And, as befits, it first introduced itself to the audience and began to report on the aftermath of the explosion.
The robot began to explain:
"Two weeks have passed since the explosion of the Core, and the consequences have been catastrophic. The number of victims reached between one hundred and one hundred and ten thousand throughout the underground.
Images appeared on the side of the screen with the caption "Image of the Week."
The first picture showed burning lands: thick smoke and fire almost completely obscured the details. And at the bottom it said: "The forest fire caused by the Core explosion is approaching the borders between Hotland and Waterfall."
Eighty-five percent of buildings, including the two capitals, remained without electricity, which was now only used in the busiest and most critical places.
The second image showed the aftermath of the fire, with only ruins remaining on the street. Below was the caption: "Streets of the New Capital after violent protests caused by restrictions on the use of electricity and water."
The third picture showed three censored bodies against a snow-covered backdrop. The caption below explained: "Three bodies of unidentified monsters found near the border of Snowdin and Waterfall. Each body had several second- to third-degree burns."
A week ago, it was reported that influenza or a pandemic had broken out in the regions most affected by the crisis of food, electricity, magic, and other essential supplies, causing the most serious humanitarian crisis our species has ever seen.
The fourth image showed a map of the dungeon with regions. Waterfall was marked in red. "Map of the dungeon and its regions affected by the disaster in Hotland. Red indicates serious damage from explosion/fire. Yellow indicates less serious damage from the explosion/fire. Green indicates an outbreak of epidemics."
"The royal scientists have been working diligently to restore the core, but it may take years for the core to be fully restored. Considering what is happening right now in the Underground, it seems that many monsters will not survive long, and we are wondering what we should do now, how we will live. These are questions that everyone is asking, but the most realistic and, unfortunately, worst-case scenario is that we will return to the Stone Age, or perhaps by that time, there will be no one left.
And then the interference began.
Universe: Genshin Impact.
In the spacious hall of the Jade Palace, surrounded by golden decorations and soft lamplight, Ningguan stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the floating screen. At first glance, she seemed completely calm, but her hands, tightly clenching an elegant porcelain cup, betrayed her inner tension. Her eyes, usually cold and calculating, flashed with sympathy when Metatron spoke of the hundreds of thousands of dead and the ruined cities.
"Under these circumstances, Azgor's actions will only delay the problem," she said, her voice even but heavy with gravity. "This is a systemic crisis. Their Core was the foundation of their entire society. Its loss is as if Li Yue had lost both its jade and its sea trade routes at the same time."
Zhong Li, sitting at a table nearby, stared thoughtfully at the screen, his golden eyes reflecting the flickering interference. He nodded slowly, his voice deep and measured, like the echo of ancient mountains:
"Well said. When a civilization is built on a single foundation, its fall becomes fatal. But even in such conditions, it is not disaster that determines the fate of a people, but their unity.
Kai Qing, standing by the balcony, nervously clasped her hands on her knees. A staggering number of deaths, loss of resources, catastrophic destruction — and, as if that weren't enough, an epidemic had begun. Her violet eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and helplessness.
"This isn't just a crisis," she said, her voice trembling with restrained emotion. "It's a collapse. They've lost everything: energy, homes, hope... And now this pandemic. If Li Yue were in this situation, I would..." She fell silent, clenching her fists. "I would do everything to restore people's faith. But how can that be done when the whole world is burning?"
Gan Yui, sitting next to Ke Qing, gently touched her shoulder, trying to calm her down. Her eyes, usually calm, were full of anxiety.
"These monsters... they remind me of those who suffered during the Archon War," she said quietly, her eyes fixed on the screen. "But their pain... it's as if it's coming through the screen. I can feel it as if it were here in Liyue."
Li Yue Harbor
Down below, in the harbor, crowds of merchants and workers stood frozen, staring at the screen above the pier. Hu Tao, standing on the roof of the Wangsheng Funeral Bureau, watched the broadcast with a thoughtful smile, but her eyes were unusually serious.
"Oh, poor things..." she murmured, her voice quieter than usual. "It seems my bureau would be overflowing if I were in their world. But you know, death is not the end. Even in such darkness, there is always a spark that can be ignited."
Next to her, Xiao, the guardian of the Adepts, stared silently at the screen. The events shown made him frown, his spear trembling slightly in his hand.
"These deaths, this epidemic..." he said quietly, almost in a whisper. "This is not just a disaster. Something in this world feeds on their suffering. I feel a darkness that is deeper than it seems.
As one who had sworn to fight against dark creatures, he couldn't help but feel anger.
Mondstadt, the square in front of Barbatos Cathedral
Meanwhile, in Mondstadt, where the screen hovered above the statue of Barbatos, the Traveler and Paimon stood among the crowd. Paimon, shaken, clapped her hands:
"This is... the real end of the world! How can anyone survive this?.."
Barbara clasped her hands, her voice trembling:
"So many families... so many children left homeless... It's too horrible to even imagine."
Venti, sitting on the edge of the statue, stopped playing his lyre. His gaze became more serious than usual.
"This story... it's like a ballad about the fall," he said quietly. His usually cheerful eyes looked at the screen with the bitterness of someone who, being an immortal Archon, had seen the fall of kingdoms with his own eyes, witnessing the fragility of human life more than once.
Universe: Hunter x Hunter
Gon Freecss, Killua Zoldyck, Kurapika, and Leorio gathered in an old warehouse they had been using as a temporary shelter after their recent mission. A huge screen hovering over the city was visible through a broken window. Its dim light reflected off the concrete walls, creating an eerie atmosphere. Mattaton's dry, robotic report filled the room with oppressive silence.
Gon, sitting on a box, clenched his fists, his eyes, usually full of determination, filled with anxiety.
"One hundred thousand dead..." he whispered. "It's as if our entire city has disappeared. How can they go on living after this?"
Killua, leaning against the wall, crossed his arms, his silver hair swaying slightly in the breeze. His voice was cold, but there was a hint of sympathy in it:
"This isn't just a disaster, Gon. Judging by the title, it's the end for all of them, and we're being shown the reasons that led to it."
The first image appeared on the screen: the burning lands of Hotland, engulfed in flames.
Kurapika stood by the window, staring intently at the screen. His scarlet eyes flashed when he saw the destroyed streets of the New Capital in the second image.
"Protests, resource shortages, epidemics..." he said quietly, his voice full of restrained pain. "It reminds me of what my clan went through. When everything you have is taken away, people lose their humanity. These monsters... they're on the edge."
Leorio, sitting on a chair and nervously fiddling with his tie, couldn't take it anymore:
"Damn it, this is a nightmare! A hundred thousand victims, epidemics, fires... And this robot talks as if he's reading a shopping list! As a doctor, I can't just stand by and watch! If I were there, I would... I would do something! I would organize hospitals, distribute medicine..."
His voice broke when the third image appeared on the screen: three censored bodies in the snow of Snowdin.
Gon swallowed, his face turning pale.
"This... this is too much. They're not just dying. Something is killing them. Something we can't see."
Killua frowned, his Nen flaring slightly around him as if he sensed a threat.
"This Metatron... he's not just a presenter. I sense something strange about him. It's as if he knows more than he's telling us. We should expect the worst."
Universe: Bloodborne.
In the dark room of the Hunter's Workshop, saturated with the smell of incense and blood, a screen flickered. An unfamiliar emblem, the steady voice of a machine, cold images of scorched lands and dead bodies... Here in Yarnam, it all felt like another manifestation of a nightmare.
German, sitting in his chair, frowned:
"One hundred thousand victims... two cities in darkness... ha. They won't survive. Not with such a blow. Their 'Core' was their heart. Break the heart, and the body will rot.
The crow Aileen crossed her arms, her voice hollow but harsh:
"I see a report of the fall of an entire people. Without strength, without food, without order. The plague of blood at least gives birth to enemies that can be killed. And them? Only hunger, cold, and fear. More terrifying than any beast.
Lawrence would have said it differently:
"They still rely on the core. On the mechanism that feeds them with magic and warmth. But that's foolish. We need to find a new source of power. There will always be a sacrifice. Even if we have to pay with blood."
The scientist Willem coughed hoarsely and shook his head:
"No, no... You don't understand. Their entire civilization was based on one discovery. And now that it has been destroyed, they face what we faced. The question is: will they learn the truth? Or, like Yarnam, will they perish in their self-deception?"
The hunters standing nearby exchanged glances. When the screen showed the bodies of monsters with terrible burns, one young hunter muttered:
"Even in our hunting, the victims don't look like this."
"Yes," Eileen replied coldly. "This is no longer a battle of flesh and claws. This is a war against nature itself."
When the robot uttered the words "return to the Stone Age" and the screen was touched by interference, the workshop fell completely silent for a moment.
German closed his eyes and said quietly:
"The Stone Age... or death. The choice is theirs. But I know one thing: if Yarnam had been there, we would have only hastened their end.
Different universes.
The robot's voice was as cold as ever, and words like "a hundred thousand victims," "fires," "epidemics," and "Stone Age" cut like a knife to the ears of everyone watching.
Fantasy kingdoms.
In the throne rooms, kings and magicians paled. Some immediately ordered old maps and chronicles to be rechecked, trying to figure out if the mountain mentioned existed in their world — to see if what was shown was really connected to another world, or if it was a prophecy of impending doom for themselves.
Mages, prone to meticulous research, were already arguing: if monsters were able to create such a "Core," how did they do it? Was it an alchemical construct, pure magical crystallization, or technology unrelated to arcane or artifacts? For many advanced races—elves, humans, and dwarves—the monsters' achievements seemed staggering. Elven sages dreamed of combining their principles with mana flows, dwarves wanted to use them in blacksmithing, and humans wanted to use them in military and trade affairs.
However, excitement quickly gave way to horror.
"The loss of support led to the destruction of the people..." whispered the archmage, clutching his staff as if it were his only protection. "This is what would happen to us if the source of mana collapsed.
Warriors accustomed to fighting dragons and hordes of orcs realized for the first time that no sword, not even the most enchanted blade, could protect them from such a catastrophe. Their hearts were gripped by the thought that if the very foundation of the world collapsed — be it magic, the sun, or the breath of dragons — no army could withstand it.
Some kings said grimly:
"We fight for land, for thrones, for gold... But these creatures, which we used to consider wild and inferior, possessed power equal to that of the gods. And yet they proved to be just as vulnerable.
Elven sages were inclined to believe that the catastrophe of the monsters was a warning to all worlds. The dwarves looked at each other in fear, realizing that even their impregnable fortresses in the mountains would not withstand the collapse of the foundations of existence.
Some, more pragmatic, were already wondering: if the monsters were dying, if their civilization was weakening, would it not be possible to find a way to their "Core" and take control of it themselves?
Fantastic civilizations of the future.
At orbital stations and in megacities, people and androids froze in front of their screens. What they saw was terrifying, and they sympathized with the monsters as they witnessed the tragedy. Activists even appeared, demanding tighter safety controls in factories and reactors. Some paranoid people began to stock up on food, as if the same thing would happen to them too. The screen left no one indifferent. Only very old people knew the format in which the events were shown on the screen, and for younger people it was almost a novelty, because cassettes had long since disappeared, and most people didn't even know what they were.
"They didn't have a backup system," one AI stated coldly. "Everything was built on a single point of failure. A design flaw... led to the destruction of an entire race.
Scientists argued: could something like this have been predicted? Did they have a chance? For the stories about the unique physiology of the monsters, including magic, could not fail to cause controversy among the scientific community. And, not unimportantly, they began an active search for this Mount Ebot, hoping that there was no such mountain in their world. And if there was, then because of their ability to provide humanitarian aid. The desire to help arose from a strange sympathy for the monsters shown, which no one could explain for some reason.
Medieval societies.
In villages and castles, where even printing was unknown, people were baptized by falling to their knees. They took what they heard as a sign from God. Various prophets and priests of the new but rapidly growing religion of the Watcher God began to preach a new doctrine, saying that the all-seeing Watcher had shown them a world whose creatures, due to an unforeseen accident, were forced to undergo the trials that had fallen to their lot. They began to say that it was necessary to conserve food and learn to stockpile it in case something similar happened to them too. This was how they interpreted what was shown on the divine screen.
A dozen chroniclers wrote while sitting in front of the screens, trying to immortalize the events shown on paper, transcribing the words, even those words and terms they did not understand. Kings prayed and even donated gold to churches, hoping that such a calamity would not befall them. And the simple peasants stared at the screens in horror, listening to the priest's words as if their lives depended on it.
"One hundred thousand dead..." muttered one priest. "Even the plague itself did not take so many."
For them, the images of fires and ruins were not just news — they were proof that even the most powerful kingdoms cannot exist forever.
The worlds of machines and robots.
The metal civilizations watched with analytical coldness. They had been making calculations since the day the first world was shown, trying to get as much information as possible by studying the subjects shown on the screen. They stored the data they obtained in specially created libraries. The display of living organic beings was valuable, even despite their illogicality. Especially the transformation of one person into a half-crab, which contradicted their data on human biology.
These worlds continued to study the screens. They conducted tests and recorded the slightest fluctuations in an attempt to figure out how the screens worked, but to no avail.
"An unstable energy node. No distributed networks. Their collapse is inevitable," said the synthetic minds.
And yet, deep in their artificial minds, a question arose: would a similar fate await them if their "solar batteries" or "reactors" were destroyed? This seemed impossible to them, as they had considered hundreds of different scenarios when designing each reactor and battery to be as stable as possible against absolutely any known influences, and, importantly, a dozen workers were ready to repair any malfunction at any moment. The chance of their reactors failing was 0.1%, but it was not completely zero.
Seeing the consequences and taking the new variable into account, they began to make plans for such unforeseen situations.
Primitive and primitive tribes.
In the jungles and steppes, people who knew neither writing nor chariots stared at the screen as if it were a divine revelation. Their eyes reflected the dancing tongues of flame from the images shown. For them, it was not news, it was not a report — it was a vision of spirits, a terrible omen from the god Observer.
They saw only fire, death, and darkness.
Shamans, painted with ochre and charcoal, raised their hands to the sky and whispered:
"The spirits of fire have devoured their land. They were strong, but they forgot to appease their ancestors. This is a lesson for us, from the Great Watcher, for we have not made an offering.
The crowd gasped. Their eyes turned to the stone pedestal on which stood a statue with a blank face, carved as if it were watching each of them. They revered this idol as the image and likeness of the Watcher. And today, on the day when the tribe was to bring offerings of blood and fruits of the earth, the screen suddenly came to life.
"Remember!" thundered the shaman, sprinkling ashes into the fire. "The Great Observer is watching us. His eyes are the heavens. His voice is the flame. His punishment is what you see!"
The crowd wept, some fell prostrate, begging for forgiveness. Women brought fruit and meat, throwing them at the foot of the statue. Warriors cut their hands to shed blood as a sacrifice.
A young hunter raised his spear toward the screen, where images of a foreign catastrophe were fading:
"We will not repeat their fate! We will please the Observer, we will listen to the spirits!"
And that night, the flames of the bonfires in the steppes burned brighter than usual — not as a source of warmth, but as a vow of allegiance to the invisible eye watching from the heavens.
Worlds of horror and darkness.
Those who lived in lands where nightmares were part of their breath and darkness was an uninvited but eternal neighbor watched the events unfold without surprise. Where ghosts roamed the streets, where the flesh of the living rotted day by day, and the earth itself drank blood, the demise of another civilization did not elicit pity.
"Every world collapses," said one of the nameless inhabitants in a hooded robe, his voice creaking like a coffin lid. "Their turn has come."
Some of them even saw in the pattern shown the inevitable cycle of fate that every civilization would fall into sooner or later. For those who worshipped the gods of terror and unearthly darkness, it was confirmation: even the strong, even the proud, even those who knew the wonders of science and weapons would fall, as everyone else falls.
In the throne rooms of ancient necropolises, dead kings laughed hollowly, their laughter echoing under the arches:
"Their end is our bread. Their ashes are our dust. We have seen it before, and we will see it again.
And the cultists, hiding in the catacombs, leaned eagerly toward the screen, whispering in ecstasy:
"Oh, how beautiful is this collapse! May our sacrifices bring the same spectacle when the Observer turns his gaze upon us.
Only a few — those who still remembered what it meant to be human — clenched their fists and wept silently. But their tears were lost in a sea of laughter, whispers, and hymns to darkness itself.