The world had ended...
The thought drifted through Alaric's mind, quiet and final, as he gazed across the ruin of the battlefield.
The sky, once a brilliant azure, was now choked with crimson miasma, the sun blotted out by the wings of invading demons.
Below, the vibrant seas had churned into a thick sludge of blood, the waves crashing against shorelines of shattered bone.
It wasn't just here. The destruction stretched to the horizon.
In the far North, the World Tree, the pillar of life itself, lay severed. Its sacred leaves, which once healed nations, were now nothing but ash drifting in the wind. The Elven forests were a graveyard of cinders.
To the South, the gears of the Dwarven Kingdom had stopped turning. Their mighty mechanical guardians, the pride of engineering, lay as twisted heaps of scrap metal, silent against the tide of destruction.
East and West were no better. The human kingdoms were decimated, their cities flattened. The land of dragons was silent, save for the mournful cry of the last wyrm mourning its ancestors.
Cough… cough…
"Oh, Hero…" A raspy, mocking voice broke the silence. "The world is already lost. Why do you still fight?"
The voice came from a creature lying a few meters away. Or rather, half a creature.
Azazel, the Demon King of Destruction!
The being who had slaughtered the seven Dragon Ancestors and driven the Gods from the heavens. Now, he was missing his lower half, his obsidian armor shattered, and one of his magnificent horns snapped like a twig.
"Could it be…" Azazel wheezed, blood bubbling from his lips.
"Because of some rancid title given to you by the Gods? Or did you forget that those same Gods are the ones who abandoned you?"
Alaric Ironheart, the Hero of Prophecy, forced a smile onto his bloodstained face.
He tried to move his arm, but it was gone. His mithril armor, plated with dragon scales, was ruined. His once-luscious black hair was matted with gore, and the light in his eyes was fading fast.
"Why do I fight?" Alaric whispered, the metallic taste of iron filling his mouth.
"You're a demon, Azazel. You wouldn't understand."
He looked at the Demon King. Despite the ruin of his body, Alaric's eyes burned with a final, defiant light.
"You underestimate the people of Elias. We may have suffered millions of deaths. But make no mistake… we have won."
Azazel's eyes widened slightly. "Won? Look around you, fool."
"The Gate," Alaric rasped. "The Gate to the Demon Realm has been closed. All your generals are dead. Your armies are leaderless."
He coughed, a violent spasm that racked his broken body, but his smile didn't falter.
"And you, the Leader of Demons… you will meet your end here with me."
Alaric took a deep, shuddering breath.
"With enough time, the survivors hidden in the cracks of this world will heal. They will learn. And they will come back stronger. Because of that simple reason… I fought."
The wind howled over the battlefield, carrying the screams of the dying. Alaric's vision began to tunnel. He knew he had seconds left. His mana heart was shattered; his soul was leaking away.
"As a Hero," Alaric whispered to the darkening sky. "I only have three regrets."
"One… that I could not save more people."
"Two… that I could not marry the love of my life, Elena."
"And three…" His eyes hardened. "That I could not ask the Goddess why. Why did she abandon us?"
Silence fell over the battlefield.
Azazel stared at his adversary. He saw the conviction in the human's eyes. He saw a will that even the destruction of the world couldn't break.
For the first time in eons, the Demon King laughed.
"Hahaha… alright then, Hero. If there is a next life for monsters like us… let us meet again. Only next time, I will win."
Alaric chuckled, his breath failing.
"If there is a next life… just know this, Azazel. I'll be there to stop you again."
Their eyes met one last time.
Then, the light faded. The Hero and the Demon King died together, their blood mixing in the soil of a dead world.
The story of Elias was over.
..................
[Blue Star - Earth]
"Stupid author! How could you end it like this?!"
The shout echoed down the busy street, turning heads.
Lin Ye, an eighteen-year-old student with unkempt black hair and a slightly overweight physique, stood on the sidewalk, staring at his phone screen in utter disbelief. His knuckles were white as he gripped the device.
He had just finished the final chapter of his favorite webnovel, The Hero Returns.
"What kind of trash ending is this?!" Lin Ye raged, scrolling through the comments section furiously. "Everyone died? The Hero died? The Demon King died? What was the point?!"
He began to type a furious comment, his thumbs moving like lightning.
"What about my waifus?! What about Elena, my lovely angel? What about the Elf Queen? What about the Master of the Flame Tower? You just killed them all off-screen?!"
He was hyperventilating. He had spent three years reading this book. He had invested money, time, and emotion into these characters.
"And you, Demon King!" Lin Ye shouted at the screen.
"If you wanted to destroy the world, why did you fail at the very end? You killed the Gods! You had everything! If it were me, I'd either save the world properly or rule it! I wouldn't die like some noble idiot!"
He was so engrossed in his rage that he stepped off the curb without looking.
"You there! Move!"
A shout from a bystander broke his trance.
Lin Ye looked up.
Blinding headlights filled his vision. A massive truck was swerving unsteadily, barreling straight toward him.
HONK!
He didn't even have time to scream.
BANG!
The world spun. A crushing impact shattered his ribs and sent him flying. He hit the asphalt hard, his phone skittering away across the road.
Pain. Blinding, white-hot pain shot through his body, followed immediately by a terrifying numbness.
His vision blurred. The sounds of the city, the honking cars, the screaming pedestrians, faded into a dull roar. Darkness encroached from the edges of his sight.
As his consciousness faded, Lin Ye had only one final, burning thought.
'Screw you, author…'
'And screw your shitty book, too!'