They stood on the edge of the world, silent figures waiting for the end.
They knew what was coming, and many trembled with fear. These ones knew that they had no chance to follow those who had secured passage to a higher realm. One of these, a dark-haired teen stood on the edge, looking out at the wall of fog that was the end of a world. His name was Trent, and he was one of the few who did not tremble at his death.
"Do you have any regrets?" asked a man standing behind him. "Any wishes that you couldn't see through?"
Trent turned to the figure, who was completely engulfed by a jet-black cloak. "Regrets? It's been so long since anyone even thought about me that I moved past those long ago."
The man cocked his head to one side. "You were once one of our most well-known members. I never forgot, at least."
Trent smiled. "Thanks, Dark. But sympathy isn't what we need here now" he looked over the hordes who stood in fear. "They don't want to die. For four years, they lived and thrived in this world, and now they think they'll just be snuffed out like candles."
Dark nodded. "We cannot change that fate now. The choice is made, and our execution is certain. I feel their loss deeply." He now turned to look at those who had security, those who would pass on to another world. Notably, a sticklike figure wearing a black headband and holding a large sword was in front. He was Asis, the embodiment of one of the oldest Creators. He was prepared to lead his people to their reward. But Dark cold see the sadness in his eyes. It pained him greatly to see so many of his brothers die.
"Boss, Epic, Guitar, AfRo. They've all got it made" Trent sighed. "They were some of the greatest, and I suppose they still are. It's good that this new chapter can be started by those who came from the old world." Trent stared harder at the wall of destruction which was about to impact them.
"We had a good run, didn't we?" He said finally. "It's over now, but hopefully we'll be remembered. I can honestly say that I'm sad to see it go, even if it has been crumbling.
"This was a place for art and creativity. In a few seconds, it will no longer exist." He held back the tears in the corners of his eyes. "Do you think there's a God for us, Dark? Even if we are just ink and lines, there has to be something next for us."
"No" Dark replied. "We'll be gone, that's certain, but like you said, we live on in memory." Looking to his friend, he slowly held out his hand. The teen swordsman took it, extending the other arm to the next person beside him.
Like a chain of dominos, every hand was soon linked. The storm raged closer, and Trent stepped in to greet it.
"Long live Hatena!" He cried as the wind consumed him.
Groups were flung apart and people screamed as they dissolved into bits of code. The chosen ones were caught up from the destruction and whisked away through space. The others could only wait as the vortext consumed them.
With a mighty roar, a world devoid of life faded to black.
Flipnote Hatena was dead.