At this moment, the heads of the million Gods were all in a daze.
The word "future" had long since become an untouchable dream for these geniuses born at the end of the Dark Matter Civilization era. In the vast, annihilating era of the Dark Matter Cosmic, they were born at the end of civilization, saw the end at a glance, and could no longer see hope, nor touch the future.
There was a time they also wished how great it would be if they were not born into such a noble civilization.
How happy it would have been not to be born into a majestic civilization. If they were mediocre and low, at least they could struggle for a lifetime, opening up one magnificent era after another for civilization, becoming roaring heroes who fight for civilization, warriors wielding divine swords.
Even dying splendidly is better than living like the walking dead, eternally in darkness, unable to see or touch; isn't it just a cage in a prison?
If not for their resilience, they would have gone mad.
