If everything before had been nothing but clowns tumbling onstage, then now—finally—someone had pulled back the curtain, revealing the real puppeteers behind it all.
Ethan stood amidst the ruins of the shattered city. Dust drifted like cheap smoke-machine haze, mixing with the iron tang of blood. Corpses littered the streets—enemies, rebels, and countless "extras" caught in the crossfire.
The sky began to collapse. A massive black veil peeled back like old film, revealing not stars, but a single colossal eye.
That eye had no pupil, its surface crumpled from bills and IOUs, coldly gazing downward.
"Heh, so it's finally here." Ethan's lips twitched into a grin, the kind a man makes when he realizes his winning lottery ticket had expired.
A round of applause rang out—not from people, but from the air itself, welcoming the ones behind the curtain.
A voice rolled in, official yet dripping with decay:"Brave test subject, you've reached the final step. Now, you may know the truth."
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "The truth? After all the bloodshed? Don't tell me it's just that you find us entertaining."
The voice chuckled, the sound like spoiled milk shaken and relabeled:"Accurate. You've been our finest show. Chaos, betrayal, sacrifice—it's all better than any soap opera."
The black eye shifted, shaking the ruins like stage props.
"So we're your puppets?" Ethan sneered. "My suffering, Karl's sacrifice—just fodder for your evening drama?"
"Don't despair." The voice softened, like a bank's "friendly reminder" about late fees. "At least you're alive to keep performing."
"What are you then?" Ethan spat. "Gods? Demons? …Scriptwriters?"
The air paused, as if savoring the title."You may call us The Curtain. We don't belong to your world. We only keep the theater running. Humanity? Merely our stage set."
Dark humor seeped from the ruins like clotted blood. Ethan laughed—half fury, half absurdity."So you're eternal directors, and we're actors destined to be sacrifices?"
"Wrong." The Curtain's tone was cool. "We're the audience too. You don't even deserve to witness your own annihilation."
The giant eye began to weep black liquid, forming new monsters on the ground—draped in military uniforms, priestly robes, clown costumes. Symbols of every human institution: war, faith, entertainment, capital.
Ethan's chest tightened. These weren't random shapes. They were humanity's ruling symbols throughout history.
He laughed hoarsely. "So all our struggles were just seasoning? War the main dish, faith the dessert, capital the after-dinner mint?"
The eye seemed amused. "Clever. Clever enough to be our protagonist."
Ethan spread his arms wide, smiling with madness. "So I should thank you? For making me your circus monkey? For giving me an epic that means nothing?"
"You misunderstand," The Curtain said. "You're not a monkey. You're the key. Nightmare energy is a stage prop. You are the trigger that decides whether the theater collapses."
The ruins fell silent. Even the stench of blood seemed to pause.
Ethan squinted. "So I get to choose? Keep the stage alive—or tear down the curtain so everyone dies together?"
"You finally understand. Choose, test subject. Continue the performance… or end the theater."
Ethan smirked after a long silence."You know your biggest mistake? Giving me the choice."
"Oh? And why is that?"
"Because I'm broken." Ethan's voice was soft, venomous. "I don't believe in saviors, order, or stages. I only believe in making you sick."
Nightmare energy roared to life. The sky tore like rotten cloth. The eye trembled.
"You fool!" The Curtain's voice cracked with desperation. "Do you know what you're doing?!"
Ethan bared bloody teeth in a grin."Of course. I'm burning your theater, shredding your script. If I can't be the audience—then no one can."
BOOM—
The world convulsed. The curtain shredded like confetti. The sound of collapse was like countless people clapping and laughing at once.
Ethan laughed.The Curtain screamed.
And in this last black comedy, no one knew how it would end.