The Last Supper

The year is 2020.

Mount Everest.

A tearing roar echoed from afar.

Huge ice sheets slid off the pitch-black peak, crashing into the surging sea.

The violent icy sea churned, vast and mighty, as if it stretched to the end of the world. Then, from the world's end, a wind blew, carrying the scent of ash and dust.

The world suddenly felt so small.

The towering sky seemed to press down, turning into pure white iron. Through the massive cracks above, one could glimpse the stars in the universe gradually dimming and extinguishing.

Like lamps dissolving into darkness after the power went out.

Between the vast heavens and earth, it seemed nothing remained. All that was left was this narrowest, highest platform in the world, and the makeshift work cabin.

A fishing rod was set up at the edge of the platform, casting its line into the sea. The float bobbed in the murky water.

The bored angler, wearing a felt hat, lay back in his folding chair.

As if to pass the time, he had even brought an old chessboard, and ignoring the continuous cracking sounds in the distance, he idly arranged the pieces.

As if having endured long ages, the black and white pieces were difficult to complete. The ranks were "thin," and the few remaining "kings" and "bishops" were incomplete, riddled with cracks from weathering.

Even the chessboard was missing a large corner, the black and white squares twisted and mixed together, forming large swathes of chaotic gray.

But surprisingly, no matter how the earth shook and the mountains rumbled, the pieces stood firm on their territory, not wavering in the slightest.

"President, NASA sent a message—"

The assistant, wearing thick glasses, emerged from the cabin with the last of his luggage. "—The fourth settlement is complete, the New York Stock Exchange has finished uploading, and they're evacuating. They said they wish us smooth work."

"They should have left long ago."

The President shook his head in displeasure. "Those guys at the Unified Bureau are so troublesome, always dawdling. They can't even pack up efficiently."

"We need to save backups. After Heaven fell, data transfer can only rely on hard drives."

"Don't be silly, kid," the President scoffed. "Those guys just enjoy the feeling of stepping on the bell, as if they're so professional and punctual. Tsk, ten minutes earlier wouldn't kill anyone."

"Ahaha."

The assistant chuckled awkwardly and said nothing more. As he leaned closer, he saw the computer left beside the chessboard. Besides two pages that had just searched 'how to fish in the Himalayas,' all that remained on the screen was a real-time satellite map.

Satellites from Old NASA, even now, stubbornly maintained their mission, diligently transmitting images from space.

It was a pity that what was on the screen was no longer the beautiful stars of yesteryear, but a body riddled with holes.

Countless chaotic cyclones covered the entire azure sphere. And beneath that layer of typhoon clouds, either thick or thin, were patches of shocking burns.

And at the same time, a massive rift slowly appeared on the satellite map. A line of crimson spread across a vast scale of thousands of kilometers, rapidly extending and expanding, pulling at the withered yellow continents and black-gray oceans around it, finally stirring up a hurricane and tearing another opening in the atmosphere.

"Is that an earthquake?"

The assistant exclaimed in astonishment, leaning closer. "It's amazing. I didn't expect it to be so spectacular."

The President glanced up and immediately understood. "It's a geothermal eruption. As the Earth's core begins to cool, the third wave of tremors is being released from the North American and South American continental plates. If left unchecked, it should end in about sixty years... Look, New York is sinking into the sea."

"What a shame. I haven't even seen the Statue of Liberty yet."

"I've been,"

The President withdrew his gaze. "It's not that interesting, really..."

A roar suddenly came from afar. A light flickered in the depths of the ocean, crimson churning in the darkness, reflecting the painful burning light from beneath the Earth's crust.

A scorching wind blew from the end of the sea, carrying gray dust and white mist, as if covering the entire world.

It was as if the whole world had been boiled in seawater.

"It's a lot like teppanyaki," the President suddenly said.

"Huh?"

"Teppanyaki, didn't I take you to eat it last time? It tasted great."

The President seemed sleepy. He lay back in his chair, covering his face with his hat, as if preparing to sleep. His voice was as soft as a sleep talk. "A friend from the Archipelago Nation told me before that teppanyaki is divided into Kanto and Kansai styles. Most people eat the Kanto style, which is convenient and simple. But the truly wonderful flavor is the Kansai style.

Because it only applies a thin layer of oil to the iron plate at the beginning. As long as the temperature is high enough, the ingredients' own fat will cook them. It's said that this way, you can taste the natural freshness and original flavor of the ingredients..."

The assistant was silent for a moment. "That sounds really cruel."

"Yes, but aren't humans themselves such cruel creatures?" the President retorted. "If eating is the only way to survive, then we will eat. This is the simplest truth, the evil rooted in human nature.

In the beginning, we consumed lightning and fire, burned the wilderness, dug for coal, then extracted oil. When oil was insufficient, we coveted fission... And now, even as this world is dying, we won't let go.

Ever since our ancestors put Neanderthals on the menu, it's been unstoppable."

The assistant turned his head and looked at the man in the lounge chair, but he couldn't see his face through the hat. He couldn't tell if the man's gaze was filled with pity, or the familiar sarcasm and mockery he knew.

In the long silence, the sky grew darker. The originally pure white sky gradually turned overcast, until finally, the illusory light behind the clouds slowly contracted and dissipated...

"Is the sun about to go out too?"

"Yes, the power of the Pillar of Source is beginning to gather."

"The storm is picking up again."

"Mm-hmm."

"Will it stop this time?"

"Who knows?" The chairman slowly stood up and put his hat back on. "No matter how it changes, this is no longer land where humans can survive... Didn't you already see it? Besides these wounds, it has nothing left."

He paused and murmured softly, "This is our last supper."

The last cigarette was lit.

The flame flickered, and a thin stream of smoke curled upwards.

On the computer screen, all the satellite signals gradually extinguished, replaced by strange emblems. They moved across the dark screen like deities moving upon the face of their own abyss, carrying an indescribable coldness and majesty.

Utopia, online.

Continuance Institute, online.

Unified Bureau, online.

Stone Kiln Society, Bronze Hand, Graveyard of the Unreturning...

Through the dark screen and their own emblems, countless gazes seemed to fall upon this last piece of land, welcoming the arrival of the final moment.

All the guests were in place, waiting for the final curtain to be unveiled.

He gazed at the incomplete chessboard.

The assistant swallowed nervously, carefully watching the pocket watch in his hand. The moment the hour and minute hands overlapped, he looked up as if electrocuted and reported, "Pillar of Divine Marrow preheating complete."

"...Wait!"

The chairman suddenly frowned, as if listening intently.

Not only the assistant, but the emblems on the screen also seemed to turn serious, as if facing a great enemy.

Immediately after, the guy suddenly reached out and pulled up his fishing rod, actually pulling something out of the sea. It looked fluffy, like a cat, but it had a fish-like tail, making it indescribably strange.

"Aha, after waiting for two hours, there's still some result. Who says Baidu Baike is unreliable?" The chairman grinned, examining his 'catch.' "What a coincidence, little guy! But it doesn't look much like a fish, can it be eaten?"

"..."

Everyone was silent, not speaking.

They didn't really want to pay attention to him.

Pulled up by the fishing rod, the little thing let out a couple of unhappy squeaks and stretched out its two small front paws to scratch his face, but he casually stuffed it into the fish basket.

Once returned to the seawater, it became quiet, flipped over, and didn't bother to move.

"Alright." The chairman shoved the fishing rod and bucket into the assistant's arms and picked up his chair. "Let's get ready to go."

He reached out and took the white rook from the chessboard.

As he moved, it was as if the last lights were extinguished.

The sun, hanging high in the sky, disappeared.

Everything in the world plunged into darkness.

After losing sight of the light, no wind could be heard, because everything, except for them, had abruptly stopped, as if time had frozen for them.

The universe was the first to leave, as a slender, long hand appeared from nowhere and plucked off the black queen—Utopia withdrew the foundation of stellar matter—and the primordial darkness receded, countless stars vanishing without a trace, leaving only meaningless void.

Next to withdraw was the surviving ocean; the Continuance Institute removed the proof of existence, and the black bishop vanished without a trace. Whether it was towering tsunamis or boiling crimson seas, all the living waters of this world rapidly receded, collapsed, until finally, only a dark seabed remained.

Then, the white bishop dissolved like an illusion; the Unified Bureau extinguished the glorious light, and thus, all things fell silent, the roaring earth's crust fell into stillness, and the lava gushing from the cracks rapidly solidified, losing all its heat...

Now, Asia, Europe, Africa, South America, North America; the desolate lands, the violent oceans, the cold or scorching hurricanes, or even the skies above... everything was being systematically destroyed.

Only the low mournful cry of the world's disintegration remained.

Like strings of a lute snapping one by one, in the end, only hollow echoes were left.

In this vast and lonely destruction, Old Gaia Earth VIII welcomed its end.

After the last cigarette was finished, this world riddled with holes was left with only its final outline, and the last door beside the chairman that had not yet been closed.

"The fourteenth abandoned Eden and promised land..."

The chairman quietly gazed at the empty chessboard before him, took out a bouquet of pure white flowers from his pocket, and petals from an unknown source still held dew.

Like tears, they dripped into the cracks of the chessboard.

"Thank you for sheltering and tolerating me for over three hundred years. You've worked hard."

He took off his hat and bid farewell gently to all of this:

"—One day, let us meet again in another hell."

.

Finally, the door closed.

In eternal darkness and silence, a space without any meaning contracted inwards, pulling the lingering spectrum into a futile blueshift. With the collapse of the four fundamental forces, the chessboard and the flowers vanished into nothingness.

Earth No. 8 was annihilated.

The 14th World Annihilation Plan of the International Astronomical Society was thus completed.

In the final moment, a sliver of light emerged from the chessboard, outlining the Queen's pure white silhouette amidst the weeping of flowers, soaring into the distance like a shooting star.

The old world died once more, just as it had countless times before.

And then, the new world arrived.

Everything continued to function as usual.

.

These were the surviving records from ninety years ago, the final vestiges of a glorious era.

After this, there was no more such splendor.