Original subtitles

One day, the unimaginable appeared.

It suffocated the world with surrealism and magic, and entranced our eyes

with visions beyond dreams.

the creator of everything we knew, including our very bodies and souls,

was murdered.

Somehow in an isolated and distant location, something was

strong enough to confront and overthrow our

This bizarrely caused the creator's energy to scatter out blindly once it

killed, falling into every mortal creature left alive.

It transformed common people into prophets and deities.

All were suddenly able to perform miracles, whether they liked it or not.

The sheer humanity of the survivors' thoughts and desires, however, could not

be changed.

Greed and horror soared to insurmountable levels and

most acts of grandeur would turn to jealousy and rage within seconds.

There was a war of miracles between the remaining few who were now truly

in their creator's own image.

Somehow, things had to be stopped.

There was only one possibility to kill this plague of wisdom in mankind.

started it in the first place.

Wait.

This is nothing.

Just give me a second.

I can take it. I've taken worse.

No one has taken worse.

Not even the inventor of pain.

Just give me a second.

How do you feel?

Like my heart's tearing to bits with each step.

Imagine what it's like with two hearts tearing to bits with each step.

We're inside now.

Get used to it, honey.

In here, dreams can only stay in our heads.

No more miracles from now on.

Just dumb, brucible mud.

You break, you shatter here.

Perhaps I should climb up first, then.

Seeing as your bodies are both... older.

We've done things you could never dream of doing.

We've all done things we never dreamed could be done.

That doesn't impress me.

Over here, we're equal.

Death to magic, right?

Nothing to take lightly.

Kill magic, sure.

But there's still plenty of it out there.

You can wait to die, or you can resurrect death.

I'm not even remotely allowing myself to be stalled.

What needs to be done gets done.

I'm not disagreeing.

Of course not.

So don't talk.

Do.

We all know why we're here.

What is it?

A man.

Avoid it.

We have everything we need with us.

No need to take what has been cursed with failure.

Must know what she's talking about.

Being a former woman of God.

Big expert in failure.

Ask the big corpse in the sky.

Excuse me?

Nothing?

A sudden loss of faith.

We weren't supposed to stop.

Quiet, please.

Does this mean we're going to die now, like him down there?

Maybe you will, not me.

How do you feel?

Like I'm made of twigs.

We've barely started.

When I look up, my eyes hurt from what's above us.

I can't see it, but I can feel it at the top.

That's what it wants us to sense.

It wants us to tear at our eyes, be afraid of what it might look like.

What's blind can't hurt.

Having trouble breathing?

Breathing just fine.

Too bad.

We have to go through such trouble just to not breathe any longer.

The curse of divinity.

So here we are.

Do you care about them outside?

Don't you?

If fed up is a synonym of caring.

then I suppose I do.

Perhaps too much.

Probably too little.

Enough to want to end the monstrosities we've been living.

How about you?

Quiet.

Save your energy.

Everything she's believed in has been twisted and distorted into a mockery of

what she wished the reality of it to be.

That's what happens when you live for words all your life.

That you suddenly discover are actually true.

Only to see them torn to shreds.

Rewritten.

The dictatorship of the singular God has ended with the horrors of equality.

Chaos blessed and strengthened.

This is what we've become.

It didn't have to be that way.

But it is.

Miracles rape daily.

Nothing like an animal being set free.

Nothing like an animal becoming its creator.

Did you do things you regret out there?

I only regret not doing this sooner.

In here.

But what a sight it is outside.

Not for long.

Not for long.

Nothing is okay over here.

That's fine.

That's the plan.

Think you're better than everyone else?

Well, just because I've tasted what it's like to create.

Parasite. You've been infected with a parasite you wished upon yourself.

There's a living creature in me.

Not some stupid book and some fancy props.

Get up.

Don't make a show.

Okay.

Perhaps you're right.

This is a parasite.

I want my legacy to be a pile of bloody meat.

It will watch me complete our destiny.

Can you stand?

Of course I can.

Can you?

Fairly.

Okay.

I've gotten the attention I so crave as the obscenely bloated parody of a woman

I am.

Show's over.

We must pass through here.

Nothing will be what it seems soon.

How do you know we'll have to pass through there?

I just know.

How? I dreamt it.

I dreamt it too. That's why I'm here.

This wasn't in my dream.

Well, in mine it was.

How about you?

I think it's hard to remember.

Then I guess that makes me the special one.

The visions of the confused, unstable deities.

will save the world.

This sensation of pure and utter fragility is somewhat reassuring,

actually.

Nothing more comforting than a healthy dose of limitation.

It was getting oddly banal to be able to make my every desire come true.

Guess the same thing happened to the Creator on a regular basis.

Must be happy to be dead.

No more disappointments.

That's you.

You can be our little mascot for the apocalypse.

Wings are made of blades when you fly without thought.

When you speak without thought as well.

Did you rehearse that?

Just because most of what you say sounds rehearsed.

Like a prayer.

Things desperately memorized from paper.

You're babbling to the converted for your information.

I'm here to kill whatever I believed in.

Why did you become a woman of faith anyways?

I suppose you would have called me an atheist in the past.

But that would mean I don't believe in myself now, right?

Cynicism is a grand, weak defense mechanism.

I need all that I have left.

I felt glory.

Now I only feel terminal.

Listen, be ready for worse the higher we reach.

You both have to stay focused.

What about you?

I don't need to be told what to do.

Impressive.

In your dream did you see details about what's up top?

I only dreamed about myself.

Some things in life hold no surprises.

This one's a woman.

We can't all be pillars of strength.

Stronger, sure.

These bodies.

These people.

Do you think they dreamt to come here as well?

Maybe it's calling us.

Challenging the world to kill it.

For the world to become strong enough to commit suicide.

Perhaps it wants to end everything itself.

Death needs a few good women to show it the right path.

It seems to be begging for us to kill it.

I don't know.

It might realize that this perversion of existence it caused is just too horrid,

craving our success.

Or at least it wishes to remain amused, to conquer anew, keep others coming,

and attempt what even the creator failed at.

Who knows?

Practice for a bored, all -encompassing genocide practice.

I think whatever's up there is female.

Why?

Just a feeling.

Walk over the body. Let's move on.

Funny.

If the elevator was still working, all this would be much less of an issue.

Technology is one of the few things we could count on before all this madness.

Magic has killed it.

Wait a minute.

You trusted technology.

One of the few things born for a man that wasn't a lie.

But...

You were religious.

So?

Urge machines against the principles of humility you were supposed to believe

in. Get real.

Machines are great.

Now they're obsolete by miracle.

Sad.

I hate machines.

I prefer to trust things that can feel, or at a bare minimum, feel content.

You obviously never understood that technology was more sincere than any of

likes of us.

It fulfilled its purpose honestly.

No back -ended plots or schemes.

That, perhaps, is more in harmony with my former principles than the fact that

any of us were ever born.

Technology couldn't save us from what happened outside.

Can't save us here.

It's useless.

I hate electricity.

Life is based on the fundamentals of electricity.

A spark.

Power failure.

Great to see their sanity remaining in this nightmare.

After what I've seen, I can never remotely want anything beyond death.

Now you're talking.

We never really got to know much while you were here.

What happened to you?

It's personal.

Darling.

The world is an immortal bloodbath.

Nothing is personal.

If we were out there, I would just read your mind.

But we're not out there.

Give me the dignity to be able to have my own thoughts again.

No, sweetie.

We're here to end the world together.

That's pretty big news.

I know a little bit about the mobile prune above us, but nothing about such a

young, pretty creature as yourself.

How about that extra weight you've gained?

You would have had so much life ahead of you had all this not happened.

Are you sad?

No more chance to fulfill any of those typified aspirations you might have had?

No house, no family?

No husband?

No suburban muscling?

No little dog to worship you and occasionally fuck your leg.

Poor girl.

What made you get up and rebel against such a sweet, bitter gift?

You're pregnant.

Looks like we won't be reaching the top anytime soon.

Talk to me.

Helps me think about something other than pain.

The more you talk...

The weaker you get. And the more crazy I get from the fact that every move feels

like it's been torn from my flesh.

Let's take a little pause.

We thought it gets inside of us.

How do you know that?

We're all doing this for the first time.

I just know.

Right. Your dream.

Well, we all seem to have gotten different callings in our dreams.

So I'll go with my gut instinct, and it tells me to rest now.

losing your teeth i feel

older you are older

perhaps

we should rest no it's getting inside you

Do you have symptoms of arthritis?

Inflamed joints?

Pain?

I think I have it.

Now you and the old bag have something to talk about.

Then we're getting wiser the higher we get.

You can imagine how it felt for me.

Well, of course.

One instant, a simple, logical, rational person.

As logical as a girl in her early adulthood could be, I suppose.

Priorities were different then, did they at least?

Next.

Anything I wished was real before I could even finish the thought.

Who could deny that terror?

My father could.

He couldn't deny the terror or how much that terror made him feel good.

The rush of injustice and the triviality of death, like he adored to say.

He began to kill.

A lot.

Thousands, actually.

But obviously, how could you kill a deity in the simple, brutal manner that

employed?

His victims would just wish themselves back to life, which only gave my father

another chance to frantically murder them once more.

They came back, yet again.

I massacred him.

My father, in consequence, returned and killed his victims and you.

And this insanity continued until it was their daily routine to kill each other

and resurrect themselves.

Something like a sport.

A hobby.

They could no longer concentrate on anything other than the thrill of dying.

to die.

They became addicted.

My father was a champion player in the game of brutal resurrection.

He used to try and tempt me into his perversions, kill me a few times,

try to convince me how much fun it was.

In a playful manner, certainly, but...

No surprise I could find a certain absence of joy with running in a vicious

circle of violence.

My father was all I had, Isaac.

We have to save them from themselves.

Kill the world.

Is that all?

For me, it's enough.

Then you're sheltered from how really nasty things have gotten.

What a soft tail you weave.

Soft.

What makes you so justified?

Nothing you'll ever hear.

How could you possibly condescend to her?

I understand you now.

I don't know.

I think I'm here because of love.

Maybe that's why we're all here.

Isn't that right, my fourth life compatriot?

Speak for yourself.

Love is horror.

It kills.

Would it be inappropriate to say I love you then?

It's a family.

A family that fares together, congeals together, forever.

Kids.

It's scary.

How could such a young girl reach this high?

Sweet that a family tried, but they probably cared for each other.

Caring means weakness.

What's up there at doors, that frailty?

Does that mean we'll last longer?

Not much caring going on here.

I can think clearer now.

What a horrible scene it must have been when they finally died.

Must have been so much screaming.

Children love to scream.

Hearing screams from below?

Let's just say I'm trying to get it.

If I can make a joke, live and breathe, may as well get a sense of humor.

Excuse me.

Sweet, innocent children.

Sweet lie.

Kids are dangerous, devious and sadistic.

Much more than their grown -up counterparts.

Nothing scarier than a child becoming a gun.

Nothing.

You can't blame them.

They don't know any better.

You could try to teach them.

You can't really try.

I know.

I was a teacher.

But after the revelation took place, they

only relentlessly attacked me.

They believe they made up the rules now, so... Typical of kids.

I hated them.

So much.

Killed some of them.

And yes, of course, they came back.

No surprise.

Then they attacked me.

Stabbed me repeatedly.

I wished myself back.

But I wanted to teach the little buggers to listen in humility.

So I walked around all bloody for days in front of those glorified larvae.

Showed them a little bit what pain was.

But they never learned.

They just laughed and created silly minor miracles to mock me.

Flying, making birds out of mud.

Nothing.

Nothing good ever came out of their humiliations.

Children shouldn't be gods.

The Creator couldn't even be God.

The only thing that comes close to real power is whatever murders all life at

the top of this thing.

And boy, does it have a sense of irony.

Anything that can set children so free must have a great sense of humor.

I had to discover what it would truly feel like to have one of those young

things inside of me.

See if they were honestly evil or simply cruel innocence.

I wished myself this conception.

To have a baby in a simple, dirty, and painful way that life used to be created

with.

May as well learn a little about sacrifice.

I was curious to see if I could not hate.

If I could love a child.

Maybe then I would have understood us.

Insanity made me courageous.

Insanity made you insane.

I'm going to have to carry that case for you soon.

Never.

I don't know.

I don't know if I'm convincing myself with this thing inside of me not to

But still, for some reason, I still want the baby.

I can't convince myself to just wish it away.

I'm afraid for it.

You can't wish for anything in here except oblivion anyways.

Want to get rid of that parasite.

Take a scenic roll down a flight of stairs.

Weak idiot.

Cancerous elephant.

Hey! I've got it.

Look at you.

Give it back.

Feeling emotional.

Thank you.

You're my companion.

Not vice versa.

I do the work. You help.

Can you see through all that blood takes a lot to make me go blind Then

welcome to a lot

You're kind of beautiful.

What about me?

I think we've gone past halfway.

We must have.

The building didn't seem this high from outside.

I think... We have to stay focused.

Why?

Are you seeing things?

No.

We just have to focus.

It's so dangerous now.

Hurts.

Yes, it does.

How's the child?

Don't feel a thing.

Right now, Brennan may as well just need fat for all I care.

Feels like I swallowed a rock.

That's all.

What about punishing all those filthy little nipple slippers?

You understood nothing.

That's not the point. I'm trying to be a better person.

Why? For five minutes of delusion before it all ends?

We're all such miserable creatures.

What unpleasant company we must have been.

I think we're probably more civilized in here than out there.

Feeling pain again.

Careful. Still feel humble?

I feel alive.

And the best years of your life were yet to come.

Did you have orgasm?

What?

Before all this, you're so young.

Did you have orgasms?

Yes.

Lucky you.

I only learned my body later.

Once I could wish for anything.

So nice that you got to know pleasure.

Did you like it?

It was all right.

All right.

Only.

Perhaps I could have taught you something.

Sorry to interrupt this tender moment, but you can stay and watch me do all the

work. You'll know I've reached the top because you'll be dead.

Not so fast, you walking leather purse.

Mark my words, you will see me go in there, you will watch me succeed.

I will watch you sputter and expire.

Need help with the next step?

Would you like to take my hand?

If I grab it, I'll probably tear it off.

Come on. No use crying over a broken finger.

We have billions of lives to break.

It's snowing.

You're crying.

I'm happy.

Did you love your father?

Please.

Stop praying.

Dad.

I'm not praying.

Tell me about that special love that only fathers and daughters can have.

Don't even try to hurt me.

It's boring.

No, no.

Nothing like that.

I'd just like to hear you talk about love.

You said that's why you're here.

I don't want to talk about it.

Why not?

Not anymore.

Too bad.

It's our weapon.

Love is more dangerous than any knife.

Or even miracle.

The Mongols beside are this right.

It makes you so vulnerable.

You're open for anything.

Any attack.

Love does indeed kill.

Hypocrite, you've never been in love.

Exactly. And that's why I'm still alive.

I don't have to ask if you were ever in love.

I love the Creator.

Wrong answer.

Think about it.

So many people supposedly loved the Creator or hated him.

But we never knew if he ever loved.

Whatever's up there did it.

It killed the unkillable.

Maybe it didn't do it with violence or force.

Others have tried so much with that and failed.

Maybe it showed him what it was like to be in love for the first time.

And that made the creator an open sword ready to tear to bits.

Love. Love.

Love.

Boom.

We always love what's bad for us.

Was your father bad for you?

Please.

I have to concentrate just to not die.

Get off it.

Thanks for answering my question.

Can you move?

Maybe.

Give me the case.

Time to end it.

But you don't have all your fingers.

I'll carry it in my teeth.

I'll show you. Excuse me.

It sounds quiet.

I don't see a camera.

How did someone else get this far?

There's something wrong.

Film isn't blue like that.

Ever.

How do you know?

Technology.

Film doesn't turn blue.

It's in her.

The film is in her.

Maybe we're in the film.

Hey,

girl.

Hey, girl.

Why can't you call me down?

Maybe we're out of your hometown.

Hey, girl.

Why are you sleeping in tomorrow's world?

Hey, girl.

Hey, girl.

What? Giving up.

Stop.

What is it?

There's someone else on the stairs.

I don't see anything.

There's someone else on the stairs.

No, there isn't.

Now you can see it.

You're right.

You're right.

There's no one.

The person is moving higher.

It... I can see it. How did it pass us? We should have seen that person.

Maybe when we slept during the storm. There's no one. There's someone else on

the stairs, and it's trying to steal our genocide.

I see it.

It's going to get to the top of us.

Stop it. I won't let it.

No one is up.

There's no one up there.

There's no one else on the stairs.

I guess it's just us, then.

Wasn't it always?

Too bad she won't be around.

Kind of lucky, though.

I admire her failure.

reassuring to see failure.

Don't look at me then.

Not so fast.

Wait for your friend.

I never wanted to share the distinction of ending the world with anyone else,

you know?

Don't flatter yourself.

If you try to kill me, I drop the case.

I'm a good cat.

You're behind.

You must be kidding.

Trust me.

You're going to find this very amusing.

Nothing can be born up here.

Still, I know what it's like to be a full woman now.

It's quite pervert.

It felt good.

You can make a corpse the old -fashioned way.

Big deal.

Get rid of your toy.

Jealous?

That's disgusting.

I feel stronger.

Nothing can stand in my way.

Not now.

Only three more flights in.

I finally know what love is.

You're going to mess up everything.

Speak for yourself, false prophet.

They're in wasteland.

This child is the answer to a question I screamed.

Kids are tougher than us.

More honest.

You can't love them.

The instant you love the symbol of something innocent is the instant you

the hand of failure.

You love, you fail.

I can't let you on top if you love.

Poor woman.

You can only hurt.

I can create and end it all.

You can only do one thing.

Be a celibate, dry riverbed.

Your ideals turn on you.

No matter what, I create it.

Another living creature to my soul.

Maternal bitch.

Insane ovarian holocaust.

We have to show it its own eyes in there.

Make it fall in love with itself.

Then it can be weak enough to share its murder universally.

If you're not strong enough, if you've accepted love, you can be hurt by your

own weapon.

A mother can do anything alone.

I want you to see me go in.

Stupid woman.

Okay, you win.

Who cares?

We're all going to die.

At least you've now proven you're stubborn enough to get the job done.

I can expire confident.

Everybody will soon join me.

You can die seeing me do something.

You and your kind.

were too flawed to accomplish.

Whatever.

Just don't take the hand of failure.

Don't fall in love.

And you don't die until you see me go in.

Joke. Get out of this.

Are you proud of your mother?