The Void finally spoke.Not with a thunderous cosmic whisper, not with some profound oracle—but with… a commercial jingle.
"Attention, survivors! For the sake of universal stability, please participate in our Sacrifice Program. Each of you only needs to contribute one full self in exchange for—eternal peace!"
The tone was cheerful, like a supermarket promotion, complete with a background tune: "Buy one, get one free!"
The survivors froze.They stood at the crumbling edge of a half-devoured continent, staring at the giant projection above their heads:
[Grand Opening: The Void's Sacrifice Gala]
A stage assembled itself: neon signs flashing, spotlights dropping from the sky, and a red carpet stretching straight into rows of gaping maws.The maws lined up neatly, like celebrities waiting their turn.
"Damn, this looks more legit than the Bureau's annual party," someone muttered.
Then came the "host"—a clown stitched together from broken souls.Its tilted top hat wobbled as it grinned too wide, microphone in hand.
"Ladies! Gentlemen! And you poor ghosts who never got your expense reports cleared! Welcome to—The Final Sacrifice! Where every brave participant will be awarded the Void's very own… Nonexistent Trophy!"
The "audience" roared with laughter.Not voices, but thousands of empty eyes applauding, the sound as sharp as ripping paper.
The black comedy had officially begun.
The first victim called up wore a Bureau uniform.The clown handed him a "Sacrifice Guide":
Step onto the stage.
Introduce yourself.
Leap into the Void's mouth—and don't forget to smile.
"At least it's got a process," the man mumbled, then actually followed it.He bowed, forced a professional grin, and dove into the maw.
Applause. Fireworks.
"He's been officially recognized by the Void!" the clown cheered. "Let's give a big round of applause for our model martyr!"
The survivors watched, emotions twisted.Some stifled laughter, others boiled with anger, a few even clapped—afraid not to.
Then came the second, the third…One batch after another.Some cried, some struck ridiculous poses, some shouted: "What about my reimbursement claim?!"The audience never broke rhythm—applause, laughter, whistles.
"This isn't a sacrifice," Ethan muttered."This is a damn variety show."
"Exactly," said the accountant beside him. "The Void's just the sharpest-tongued director."
The clown escalated things: "Now with talent rounds! Dance, sing, tell jokes—because the Void says death alone is way too boring!"
So people danced a ridiculous tango before jumping in.One recited an incomprehensible poem, which the Void erased mid-sentence.Another did a magic trick: pulled a duplicate of himself from a hat, then tossed both selves into the maw.
The audience howled louder. Their laughter hammered the survivors' eardrums like nails.
Someone finally snapped. The combat captain shouted at the stage:"Why humiliate us like this?!"
The clown blinked, then grinned even wider."Humiliate? No, no, no! This is your grandest honor! In the Void's theater, every death is a performance! You're not being destroyed—you're being entertained!"
The ovation grew deafening. Whistles, chants: "Encore! Encore!"
The spotlight swung mercilessly onto Ethan.Cheers rose like a tidal wave.In that instant, he understood: humanity had never been seen as rebels—only as props in the Void's comedy.
The red carpet stretched before him, a blood-colored tongue.And the cruelest irony?He felt like not walking forward would actually be… impolite.
"This is… dumber than death itself," he muttered, stepping forward.