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He sat at the edge of the boulder, weary, but oddly relieved. He had done everything he could to prevent the Cataclysm. Though he had failed in the end, he was satisfied with his effort.
The boulder he sat on spontaneously twirled midair, flipping upside down. He remained seated despite it, the underlying laws of reality breaking down under the unfathomable weight of the end.
Reality decayed before him, material and metaphysical alike. Fragments of existence quietly winked out in some places, violently in others.
After a moment’s consideration, he murmured, “The end of the world, huh?”
She watched a river flow through space, passing in and out of existence. The space it traveled through tore open; the river dissolved into purple motes that flickered and died.
“The end of everything, to be specific” she replied.
He glanced over at her and nodded. Her hair, despite being an absolute mess from the preceding events, was still beautiful. He couldn’t look at her without his eyes catching on it. His eyes moved on after a moment, meeting her gaze.
They were the only survivors now.
Not for long.
“We did everything we could,” she said softly. “It’s painful, failing even when you try your hardest.”
“I know.” he replied, with weariness and a trace of grief.
He looked at whatever passed for up. A massive oak tree drifted past. He thought back to the moments he’d shared with her, the challenges, the good days. She was as valuable to him as the world they had fought for. His resolve to oppose the Cataclysm had always begun with her.
Not that he had ever told anyone that.
The oak tree aged in reverse, shrinking from a monolith to sapling to seed. Then it was gone. The concept of trees itself shuddered in its wake. He could no longer remember the kind of tree it was. Even the idea of trees as a whole felt thinner in his mind.
His eyes drifted back over to hers, her eye contact as steady as ever. Locking eyes with her had always felt uncomfortable and exhilarating in equal measure. She knew him as well as he knew her. And yet, all her eyes held was familiarity.
“I love you.” he mourned.
Her expression saddened. “I know.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat and stared into the dissolving distance, looking but not seeing. “You don’t love me.”
He spoke it like a fact, something immutable. His voice held no accusation, only resignation.
“Not the same way.” She confirmed, pity flickering in her expression.
An abandoned skyscraper folded in on itself in the distance, flowing into itself in parallel dimensions. Only for the adjacent dimensions to collapse, leaving intersecting matter. An ensuing crack in reality, catalyzed by the self imposed skyscraper tearing itself apart, screamed across the horizon. One of many.
“Why wasn’t I good enough?” He questioned her, uncertain if he did so out curiosity or desperation.
She flinched, “There isn’t anything wrong with you, you’re a good person, just-“ She cut herself off, and her gaze settled on him, inscrutable and grieving. Grieving for him.
Nearby, a road warped into geometric patterns and vanished, as if twisted out of existence by a kaleidoscope.
It pained him, but really, he knew exactly why. The answer had always been there, a collage of puzzle pieces he refused to assemble. Pieces she had left for him. He couldn’t bear to whisper the truth even in the corner of his mind, as if that would be the final nail in the coffin.
“Sometimes,” she whispered, “you can pour everything you have into saving the world. You can do everything right, and still fail.”
She looked at him pointedly.
“What if the Cataclysm hadn’t happened?” He asked desperately, “Or what if we had stopped it.”
The sky peeled back layer by layer.
No answer came.
The silence grew louder.
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, a scraping roar passed through them. Reality groaned under the strain it had endured too long, and finally gave way.
The world ended with a whimper.