The apocalypse had arrived, and the world had become a magnificent scene shrouded in dark clouds.
The streets were littered with ruined walls and shattered debris. Cars had become charred heaps of scrap metal, while skyscrapers had collapsed and broken apart. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and death, and the ground was covered in rubble and gravel, yet not a single corpse could be seen.
Every living thing, even flies and bugs, had been bound by its own shadow into horrifying black mummies and nailed to crosses scattered across the entire planet.
Those crosses came in all sizes. Some leaned slightly to one side, while others stood perfectly straight. A corpse wrapped in black cloth was nailed to every cross. Their expressions could not be seen, but both reason and instinct made it clear that they were thoroughly dead.
This was the world after the apocalypse: utterly silent, with only the smell of dust remaining. Those crosses had become the symbol of this world, if anyone in the Future could ever witness this scene.
But that was unlikely. Once the entire Single Universe completed its transformation, Enigma would probably take it away. There would be no later visitors, and no one would know this place's history.
"Does this Earth have a designation?"
With a cigarette between his lips, Su Ming asked the Adjutant. He had seen countless corpses in the past, but seeing innumerable crosses hung with dead bodies beneath a gloomy sky still felt different.
This had risen to the level of art—or perhaps a Wonder? At least it was quite spectacular, like when Tang Bohu saw all seven of his wives hanging themselves together in a nonsensical comedy.
"No, Sheriff."
The Adjutant floated beside him, looking ethereal atop the clouds.
"The number of Single