"Do I represent the apocalypse?" Zhang Heng frowned. "I'm just a mortal. Why would I have anything to do with the apocalypse? And speaking of apocalypses, Ragnarok has more to do with you, doesn't it?"
"Ragnarok was only the apocalypse of the Norse gods," Loki said. "I have to admit, well, two thousand years ago, that war was rather grand and magnificent. Bards sang about it everywhere. Many famous people wrote beautiful poems mourning the fall of the gods, praising Thor and Odin's heroic bearing in battle, the courage and unyielding spirit of Asgard's gods... blah blah blah. And they condemned me a little along the way. But unfortunately, they're too old."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not targeting those old fellows, really. I actually liked some of them quite a bit. I even collected some of their bones and made furniture out of them as keepsakes. But with the productive capacity of that era, the craziest thing you could imagine was a red-haired, big-bearded, muscle-brained drunken brute swinging a giant hammer from east to west. And what was his mount? A chariot pulled by two goats—two ridiculous, comical goats!"
Loki repeated, "Do you understand what I mean? That was the limit of people's imagination back then. But nowadays, grab anyone off the street and they can name a hundred things that look cooler and more impressive than that—Ferraris, Long March 5 rockets, not to mention Sky Aircraft Carriers... But we can't blame them. Their material conditions limited their imagination. Those poor fellows had already done their very best."
"Whether it's Ragnarok or Judgment Day, all these apocalypse stories, these elegant poems... how should I put it? They're like peerless beauties who couldn't resist the erosion of time. Now, they no longer live up to their former great renown, just