It always ended like this.
Mushroom clouds and blossoming radiaton; beings of flame pulled from a nether dimension; Earth displaced by gravitic forces to far outside the solar system. No matter what they did, mankind always destroyed itself. Again and again they ran their simulations, watching from beyond, but always the same result.
Ironic. They note. Creatures created by immortal beings. Yet they inherit a predilection for self-destruction. Where does it come from?
Over and over the same result. This time artificial beings develop self-awareness, usurp mankind and march through black skies with rotting heads on pikes. The next an alien race, drawn to the planet by a radio signal, incinerates the planet from beyond Pluto’s orbit. Death begets resurrection, and from that resurrection again comes death.
Man’s eyes turn to the skies and they wonder, “Why? Why must we suffer?” They feel in their bones that the destruction they bear is but a reflection of an end that is repeatedly wrought upon them, self-inflicted and deserved for their sins. In the end, there is light. In the end, there is another beginning. Primordial ooze bubbling with the promise of yet another death.
They watch, and pick through the ashes of the fallen race after each inevitable fall. Turn to each other, look up at the skies burned gray. The ashes in their hands crumble, but as they breathe upon them, they re-congeal. They sprout into life. And as they take their leave, the world begins again.
It always ended like this, with another beginning. With Life, the afterbirth, crawling free.