At the farthest reaches of the universe, where planets are dead and stars dim, there existed a world unlike anything that might cross the imagination of any human. A world known only as the "Empire of Eternal Massacre." A land destined to be home to blood, thriving only on the wreckage of wars, fertilized only by the bones of the dead. This world had no history but pages of murder, and no future but more ruin.
On this land, no day passed without rivers of blood being spilled, and no night ended without screams that tore through the eternal silence, as though they were the never-ending symphony of torment.
The sky above this world was crimson, intensely bright as though it were a painting soaked in scattered blood. Heavy gray clouds slowly drifted, but they were not clouds of water vapor; they were clouds of ash, floating due to the never-extinguishing pyres. The air in this world was thick, saturated with the scent of death, as if oxygen itself had decayed to become part of the endless cycle of destruction.
The ground was as strange as it was brutal. The soil was black as coal, cracked and split as though it screamed in pain, but it wasn't natural soil. It was a mix of dried blood and shattered bones, fused with the earth over time. No trees, no plants, only towering columns of bone rising like spires into the sky, remnants left by the dead who perished here.
This place was a prison for all who stepped onto it, not a prison of walls and iron, but a prison of pain and eternal death. There was no escape, no redemption. Even those who thought they had won their battles were merely fuel for the coming wars.
In every corner of this world, the scene was akin to a worldly hell. The lakes were not water but dark pools of blood, from which the scent of fetid iron emanated. Sometimes, you would see human limbs or skulls floating on the surface, remnants of wars that never ceased. The mountains that loomed on the horizon were not rocks, but massive heaps of decaying corpses. These mountains were so high that their peaks disappeared into the black fog that enveloped the sky.
Even the air had a special quality, thick enough to make breathing a struggle. The sound of the wind carried the echoes of distant screams, as if the souls of the dead who perished here still haunted the land. This wasn't just a world; it was a giant graveyard, alive on devastation and feeding on the souls of those who entered.
The "Empire of Eternal Massacre" was not just a name, but an accurate description of a world that knew only violence. Its inhabitants once lived only to fight; either you were a killer or a killed, there was no place for the weak. Every day was a new field of bloody battles, where life was reduced to the clash of swords and screams of agony.
But now, at this moment where time had stopped, all that was just a memory. The wars had finally ended, not because of a treaty or victory, but because everyone had died. All that remained in this world was the deadly silence. No humans, no life, only piles of corpses without end, and land that breathed ash and death.
In the middle of this horrifying scene, there was something strange. On top of one of the massive mountains of corpses, sat a young man with white hair, his body frail, but his eyes held a depth of blackness like an endless abyss. He sat there as if he were part of this world, yet he seemed different from everything around him. He carried two swords, one in each hand, though the wars were over, and there was no one left to fight.
The young man sat silently on the summit of the mountain made of charred bones and withered remains, his black eyes gazing into the void before him without expression, but behind that deep blackness, there was an exhaustion beyond description. His eyes weren't just dark; they held the weight of years, the gaze of one who had seen more than he should have, lived more than he should have, until his very existence had become a burden. His eyelids were heavy, as if every blink took more effort than he could muster, yet he dared not close them, perhaps out of fear that when he opened them, he would be met with a nightmare worse than the one he already faced.
He slowly ran his hand over the surface of one of the skulls that jutted out from under his feet, his fingers tracing the bony ridges very slowly, as though testing whether these bones were still real, if this scene was not just another illusion that had chased him. His fingers trembled slightly, not from fear, but from absolute exhaustion, from a body consumed until it could feel nothing, from a mind that could no longer differentiate between reality and nothingness.
His body was covered in faint white fire, slowly seeping through his skin as though it were consuming him gradually. But the fire did not belong to his body alone; it spread to the corpses beneath him, and to the blood surrounding him. This fire erased everything it touched, silently, without a trace, as though it were an existential erasure. The corpses, the bones, even the earth itself, everything the fire touched turned into an absolute void.
The young man slowly lifted his head towards the crimson sky. It seemed as though he was challenging the very sky that had borne witness to his suffering. He spoke in a hoarse, broken voice, as though he hadn't spoken in a long time: "Ah… Finally... everything is over. Wars, schemes, betrayals, killing, loss, loneliness... it's all over now."
His voice carried the weight of years of isolation and despair. His voice wasn't just words; it was the echo of everything he had been through, everything he had lost, and all the pain he had endured. It seemed as though he was speaking to death itself, begging it to finally take him, to end this eternal agony.
He turned his gaze toward the surrounding corpses, which were gradually disappearing due to the white fire. The earth beneath him began to transform into a void, an area being consumed by fire without leaving anything behind. Yet, he did not move, as if he had already accepted his fate.
He spoke in a low voice, as if bidding farewell to the world itself:
"Goodbye, my world. Goodbye to all this devastation... Goodbye to the life that was nothing but a futile struggle."
With his last words, he closed his eyes. The white fire suddenly surged, as though it had been waiting for his moment of surrender. It consumed his body in an instant, then spread like a tidal wave, engulfing the entire world. Everything vanished.
In the end, nothing remained: no young man, no corpses, no world itself. Everything ended as it began, in a sea of blood and death, but this time, there was no trace left.