( Author's Note : Hey there everyone this is DawnofMan and I would like to say that this is my first time writing a proper novel, I do have other works but I abruptly stopped because I didn't have proper inspiration or drive.
But now I'm back at it again and I pray to God that this novel will be a success and bare fruit. So please bare with me and I don't mind suggestions, advice, pointers and all to make this novel loved. )
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The city lay shrouded in peace, its streets bathed in the soft glow of lights that cast a warm hue upon the pavement. The inhabitants were either lost in slumber or diligently pursuing their nocturnal tasks. In one of the towering edifices, within the confines of a modest apartment, a teenage boy reclined on the sofa, surrendering to the gentle grasp of sleep. His short, curly hair was as black as jet, framing a face adorned with a sharp jawline and expressive eyebrows, his skin a soft, beige tone that spoke of gentle warmth.
Suddenly, a brilliant flash of light cleaved through the city's tranquility, illuminating the darkness like a fleeting harbinger. In the depths of his slumber, the boy perceived an authoritative yet gentle voice, its timbre resonating with an otherworldly gravity: "The End is here... Yet you shall be granted a chance at redemption. Nine years of hell await you – a world bereft of God's presence, a realm forsaken by the divine."
Ethan, the teenage boy, jolted awake, his deep grey eyes scanning the sitting room with a mixture of disorientation and lingering unease. The remnants of a peculiar dream clung to his mind – a dark, foreboding landscape punctuated by a strange, resonant voice speaking of the End and Redemption. Dismissing it as a mere nocturnal fancy, Ethan rose from the sofa, his intent focused on preparing breakfast. His apartment, a singular, spacious room, was arranged with ascetic simplicity: the bed nestled to the right, the kitchen tucked to the left, the sitting area occupying the front, and the bathroom positioned discreetly before the sitting room, the overall design exuding a serene, uncluttered harmony.
Ethan's attire was minimal, consisting solely of black shorts that accentuated his fit physique and average height. A tattoo of the cross adorned his right arm, a symbol whose significance he had never explicitly pondered but felt an unspoken connection to. As he moved towards the kitchen, he found it peculiar that despite the morning hour, an oppressive quietude seemed to have blanketed the world – an absence of sound so complete it felt as if reality itself had been muted. No hum of cars, no murmur of pedestrians, no ambient noises of any kind intruded upon the stillness.
Abruptly, a scream pierced the passage outside, arresting Ethan's movements. He paused, a sense of foreboding creeping into his consciousness, and then proceeded cautiously towards the door. He opened it, his gaze instinctively turning right down the passageway, and what he beheld was a tableau of unmitigated horror – a macabre scene reminiscent of the darkest depictions he'd witnessed only in movies.
Guttural, animalistic sounds of chewing and the sickening tear of flesh assailed his ears. Ethan's gaze, paralyzed by shock and revulsion, fixed upon the posterior of a creature that seemed born of nightmares. The being possessed a gaunt, black-skinned frame, its long limbs terminating in unnaturally elongated arms and legs utterly devoid of hair. It wore nothing but a tattered pair of underwear, stark against its dark, corpse-like integument. Before the creature lay a woman, clad in lingerie now desecrated by brutal violation – her chest and abdomen gruesomely opened, viscera exposed in a morbid disarray, blood pooling darkly upon the grey carpet.
The creature, sensing Ethan's presence or perhaps driven by some atavistic instinct, straightened and turned towards him. Long, curved nails dripped with gore lent it a feral aspect. It regarded Ethan with eyes that were voids – black, hollow orbs devoid of humanity – its teeth wickedly sharp like those of a piranhas, bared in a silent, ghastly grin.
Ethan stood frozen, his back pressed against the door as the creature's piercing screech assaulted his eardrums, its frenzied charge abruptly halted by the barrier between them. He reacted instinctively, slamming the door shut and drawing a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to anchor himself amidst the swirling chaos of shock and horror. The wooden panel trembled violently beneath the creature's onslaught, its screeches and howls muffled yet terrifyingly palpable as it battered against the door. Ethan's fingers trembled as he secured the lock, a fragile sense of safety tenuously achieved.
The cacophony of impacts persisted for several agonizing minutes, the ferocity gradually dissipating into an unsettling silence that seemed to suffocate the passageway. Then, without warning, a discordant chorus of screams erupted – a chilling mélange of voices, male and female, young and old, each seemingly entwined in their own private descent into nightmare. The hairs on Ethan's nape stood erect as he absorbed the aural pandemonium.
Moving with a newfound urgency, Ethan retrieved the aluminium baseball bat he kept beside his bed – a familiar object now transformed into a makeshift instrument of defense. He gripped it tightly, his palms slick with apprehension.
Abruptly, the television flickered to life, broadcasting an emergency announcement on the news channel. The harried newsreader's voice relayed fragmented reports of attacks perpetrated by dark, aberrant creatures upon unsuspecting civilians. Witness accounts, delivered in shaken tones, spoke of these beings – creatures that had once been people they knew. "They were our neighbors... our family members," a distraught survivor stammered. "After a strange flash of light, they... they changed." The testimonies painted a grotesque tableau of transformation and violence.
Further bulletins, arriving in rapid, chaotic succession, spoke of a global phenomenon: people vanishing inexplicably, evaporating as if into thin air. The reports spanned continents, painting a nightmare scenario unfolding in synchrony across the world.
Ethan's mind reeled beneath the weight of comprehension. "What is happening?" he whispered to himself, a cold dread unfurling within his chest. "Is this tied to the dream I had...?" The words of the dream-voice echoed unbidden in his thoughts: _The End is here... But you shall be given a chance at Redemption... Nine years of hell... A world where God is not there._ A shiver coursed through him. "Is this truly the end of humanity?" The question hung suspended, unanswered, in the oppressive silence that seemed to be closing in around him.
Ethan's mind raced as he pieced together the fragments of information, the biblical references crystallizing a dreadful possibility in his thoughts. The book of Revelation, with its apocalyptic imagery and warnings of an end-time, seemed to be unfolding before his eyes. The concept of the Lord coming "like a thief in the night" resonated uncomfortably with the sudden, inexplicable events transpiring around him. A mix of despair and terror gripped Ethan; his deepest fear – being left behind in the end times – appeared to be materializing with ghastly swiftness.
Yet perplexity tempered his fear; Ethan expected cataclysmic, transformative events aligning with scriptural prophecies, but the unfolding reality seemed somehow... different. The lack of overt divine intervention or clearer signs as depicted in biblical narratives troubled him.
Abruptly, the television screen dissolved into static, and amidst the white noise, a shadowy, indistinct figure coalesced. Then, a voice – majestic, authoritative, yet imbued with an eerie soothing quality – resonated across the city, and likely the entire world. The words unfolded with grave solemnity:
"The End is here, humanity. As stated and written in the Bible, your end would be delivered without second thoughts or chances... But by the Grace of the Lord who pleaded for you one last time... You are given a chance at redemption and salvation, one last time. There will be no other.
"You will survive nine years of Hell on Earth. You will get exactly what you desired most – a world without the supervision of God... A lawless and dark world of chaos, bloodshed, and madness. Creatures you have only seen in movies, read about in books, or glimpsed in nightmares will manifest each year to test humanity... With each passing year, something far worse will emerge.
"For now, you shall face... The Damned."
The television screen went dark, plunging the world into a silence punctuated only by the stunned, chaotic aftermath of the proclamation. Ethan stood paralyzed, the weight of the declaration crushing in its enormity. The world seemed to hold its breath, poised on the cusp of unthinkable horrors. The mention of "The Damned" hung in the air like a dire portent, leaving Ethan and humanity at large staring into an abyss of uncertainty and terror.
The dim glow of the now-dead TV cast an eerie pallor on Ethan's face, reflecting the ghastly realization: nine years of hell had begun.
Ethan hastened into the sitting room, retrieving his phone from the coffee table with a sense of urgent desperation. He dialled his sister's number, his fingers trembling subtly as he awaited a connection. The phone emitted only a hollow, monotonous beep, a stark indication that the call had failed to connect. A knot of fear tightened in the pit of his stomach – was his sister safe?
He attempted to call his parents next, hope flickering tenuously despite the foreboding atmosphere, but the line was busy. Doubtless the networks were overwhelmed; across the globe, countless individuals were endeavouring to reach loved ones amidst the burgeoning chaos. Ethan's mind raced with worry; his sister resided downtown with their parents, in a neighbourhood he had always considered respectable yet now beset by unknown perils.
Ethan's thoughts turned to devising a plan – he needed to reach them, and swiftly. Downtown areas could prove unpredictable in times of crisis; he would have to navigate warily. He stood there, phone still clenched in his hand, his gaze drifting momentarily to the darkened window, the city's silence an oppressive shroud.