They leave, when the stars die. E in this last instant, in the room of wait for the end of the world, per these mere seconds, them reigns for. But then we discover the Enemy. The Adversary, the true face of the Evil. Or the faces. Or the whispers, swelled bodies and postulating. The things that we track down. Of it are of the dreams, of the center of hollow planets and dead, of the dry orbits of the stars, flooding the universe in I put and nightmare. All and any depraved form of life that for cruel surviving miracle, in that Hell of.