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“That probably gave them the wrong idea.”
“Did it?”

Fragments of earth drifted through the air as Fumitsuki and Lullus spoke about what had happened in their respective worlds. I knew nothing myself, and with both worlds already physically collapsed, it was hard to grasp what they had even been like.

“So in the end, why didn’t you protect it?”
“Because we chose the easier option, destroying the other world. You did the same thing, didn’t you, Fumitsuki?”
“Well, yeah. But I didn’t interfere all that much, so I was mostly just watching like, ‘Ah, so this is how it ends.’ Honestly, I’m more surprised you got that involved, Lulu.”
“I had no choice, unfortunately.”
“Figured.”

Two worlds on a collision course. Fumitsuki descended into a world of magical civilization, while Lullus went to one of mechanical civilization, each watching over the fate of their assigned world. Compared to Fumitsuki, who barely interfered, Lullus was deeply involved. I initially thought it would be the other way around, but considering things like the speed of information transmission, it made sense. The effects of the worlds drawing close were also more severe in Lullus’ world. Any conspicuous action there would spread across the entire globe in an instant.

“In the end, both worlds destroyed the other, didn’t they?”
“Looks that way.”
“Yes.”

Both the world Fumitsuki watched over and the world Lullus protected attempted to destroy the approaching world to save themselves, and succeeded, exactly as planned. What they failed to consider was that the other side was thinking the same thing. Or perhaps they simply didn’t have the mental capacity to consider it. In Lullus’ world, especially, people may have grown complacent, assuming that since Lullus was there, things would work out somehow.

From the higher-ups’ perspective, they might have wanted to see what would happen if only one world survived. But personally? I was glad the job ended quickly. As the god of endings, I had mixed feelings, but finishing work quickly made me happier. Besides, this outcome was the result of each world’s own choices.

“Still, this sets an annoying precedent.”
“Fini, from your perspective, doesn’t that mean nothing really changes?”
“Both you and Lullus are my subordinates. I can’t just let you act freely without consequence. Which means I’ll get dragged into it.”
“Ah… yeah, that would happen.”
“You won’t act without going through me anyway, so that part’s fine. I can probably dismiss most requests with ‘outside my scope of work,’ though.”

Saving worlds fell outside the role of the god of endings. Even if asked, there was no reason to accept, and no obligation to. Asking the god of endings to save a world was like asking the God of Chaos to build a perfectly ordered one. Any god who understood that much wouldn’t even make the request unless absolutely desperate.

“Still, I suppose the conditions under which I can descend into a world have become clearer.”
“You could only descend once the world’s core was destroyed by direct attack.”
“I’m just relieved this won’t increase my workload.”

If I had been able to descend at the same time as those two, I’d be drowning in work right now. I wasn’t dispatched precisely because it was known I couldn’t, but maybe things were different for my apostles. They weren’t gods of endings, after all. If the ‘ability to descend’ factor was more prominent, maybe their conditions were looser than mine. …Or maybe not.

Either way, things would turn out as they did.

“Well then, the worlds have collapsed, so shall we head back?”

In any case, I had successfully cleared my End-of-the-World Speedrun. It was time to go home and get some sleep.