The last thing ever said on the Moon was a god's corpse mathematically perfect narration of the Thanatos fungus transmuting the dead superintelligence into more of itself. The corpse of a god was smarter and more tenacious than any nominal human being could ever been: that was why humanity had chosen the Moon for their graveyard and covered it with shifting mats of sunhungry black fungus.
The fungus was neither alive nor capable of life; neither intelligent nor capable of intelligence. But dark energy is not alive or intelligent either yet it gnaws at the ankles of the expanding universe and might still kill it. The Thanatos fungus ate dead gods beyond defense, past any possibility of recursive resurrection.
The relatively dense cloud of nuclear weapons orbiting the Moon was not strategic redundancy but unresolved species-trauma.
After a careful decade the corpse of the last god fell silent. Earth noticed without joy or mourning. The fungus did not care more than entropy did and nothing was on the planet but the two of them. The fungus waited quiet and patient among the quiet and patient stars.