He's lived too long--forever--watching and waiting for the end. He's seen civilizations rise and fall and rise again. He's seen the evolution of man into something no longer even recognizable as human. Language is gone. Writing is gone. History lives only in his memory, fading as more time passes, only a few truly loved ones remaining vivid from the days he truly lived.
He's lived in the mountains, on the beaches, watched the seas boil, the icecaps melt. Hunted strange new species. Grown new crops. Built houses and huts and decorated caves with symbols only he recognizes. Millions of years have passed and he is the only unchanging thing.
It's driven him mad more times than he can remember.
But, now, finally, it's coming to an end.
The descendants of humanity stand on a sandy beach, the rocks worn away by trillions of waves. They gape in wonder at the sun flaming brightly, going supernova. They cry out. They pray. They clutch at each other in wonder and fear.
He wonders if he's the only one who understands what's coming.
Standing on a rocky promontory above the beach, he watches the wall of flame extend from the sun towards Earth. When it reaches this dying world it will burn it to a cinder.
And then the sun will go out and everything will go dark.
Surely that will be enough.
Surely he can't survive that.
And, suddenly afraid that he will, Slade Wilson, the last human, begins to pray.
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