The Gamer looked down at his poem, written on the core of a star, one of the last to extinguish; he laughed. He had remembered when some of the humans, far back, to a point where even his memory was fading, had an entire community based around him. They had idolised him, and had been called the light in the never ending darkness.

Well, they were right; 100 billion trillion years after the last light, the last civilisation had gone out, he was all that remained. The universe was black. Completely black in its totality. Sometimes, he would look out and think that he was having a nightmare, and that everything was alright.

Nothing was alright. Everything, Everybody, who he had once cared for, were dead. He looked down at Belle’s skull… Belle. His “Waifu,” So far back in time that one could never comprehend the size of the number, he had worshiped Belle. Belle would feed him Gamer Girl Bath Water, a food which, for a Tendielord like The Gamer, was unnecessary; he didn’t eat it for the nourishment, but for the taste. The Gamer remembered something; another friend… The Quartering. His friend, if they had their differences sometimes.

He remembered the taste of the Bath Water, and it reminded him of what he missed most about humanity, about the million different civilisations of mortals he had encountered; their creativity, their imagination.

Now there was nothing in the universe; nothing but darkness, faint radio waves in the background, echoes of a thousand trillion year old radio messages, and the red shifted cosmic microwave background, the dead cores of stars, turning into iron through quantum tunnelling, and blackholes. Huge, gigantic, leviathan black holes, light years across; they emitted so little energy, yet it saddened The Gamer that they were still the brightest things in the sky.

He looked down at Belle’s skull and wept.

“When will this end?” He said, using his Godly will to transmit it across the universe.

There was no reply.

He wept more.

Eventually he curled up and started sobbing with great heaves.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had talked to him.

Even a lowly SJW libtard would have been enough company for him.

Alas, there were no libtards left.