New York stood hollow beneath its glowing towers. Streets were deserted, cars rusting mid-lane.
A child's toy lay abandoned, blood dried beside it.
A starving man clawed at a trash can, screaming, "I can't eat—I can't!"
A nurse sat against a hospital wall, her eyes cracked with red veins. "Eight days," she whispered, "eight days without sleep."
Rats feasted in empty restaurants.
The world did not burn. It decayed.
Cities dimmed one by one. Satellites showed black continents where light once pulsed.
Tokyo's subways filled with bodies still clutching briefcases.
Lagos dug graves under a merciless sun.
Moscow soldiers deserted, leaving rifles in the snow.
Fifty million in the first weeks. Tens of millions more by dawn.
In a small Italian home, a father mixed medicine in silence.
His daughter, Sofia, too weak to move, blinked slowly, her eyes rimmed with red.
Her mother stroked her hair. "Shh… just rest, my angel."
The father whispered, "There has to be a cure…"
Sofia coughed, unable to swallow even water.
The plague mocked love itself.
He brought her soup. She tried to lift the spoon—then vomited.
Tears streaked her pale face. "Mama… why can't I dream?"
Her mother wept into her hands.
No bomb could shatter a soul like the slow death of a child.
Notre Dame became a shrine to Elito's projected face.
Rio burned with gangs shooting over water.
Cairo fainted in empty markets.
New Delhi's trains turned into morgues.
Big Ben rang over an empty London.
Every nation fell to the same silence.
Sofia's parents took turns holding her.
Her father's prayers bled from his throat.
Her mother hummed lullabies, her voice breaking.
Sofia whispered, "I just want to… sleep…"
But sleep itself had been stolen.
By dawn, Sofia lay still.
Her mother screamed; her father collapsed beside her.
One child among millions. Yet the cry of every parent became one voice of despair.
He dug a grave outside their home.
She placed flowers on their daughter's chest.
Neither spoke. Bells tolled in the distance.
Neighbors carried more bodies past them.
The world had become a cemetery without walls.
Governments collapsed in silence.
The United Nations stood empty, flags fallen to the floor.
The White House echoed with the hum of dead microphones.
The Kremlin and the African Union sat frozen, chairs overturned, leaders gone.
Power meant nothing when no one remained to rule.
Churches filled with starving believers crying before Elito's image.
Mosques whispered broken prayers.
Monks stared blankly at screens.
Priests fainted mid-sermon.
Families bowed before televisions, chanting his name.
Faith fractured. The serpent filled the void.
Every screen flickered. Elito appeared again, seated on a throne of shadow.
His eyes glowed with inhuman fire.
Families fell to their knees.
"My beloved children," he said softly, "your king has arrived."
He spread his arms, voice smooth as silk.
"Your leaders lied. Your gods abandoned you. Your families perished.
But I remain."
Crowds sobbed with relief. Soldiers dropped their weapons.
His voice was not sound. It was hypnosis.
Behind him, maps of infection pulsed.
"Freedom? A myth. Democracy? A mask. Peace? An illusion."
He leaned closer. "I offer eternal order. Eternal survival."
Millions knelt, whispering his name.
He did not demand loyalty. He made it feel like destiny.
A glowing vial appeared in his hand.
"This is salvation," he said. "But only for those who kneel."
Refugees clawed at each other for air that didn't exist.
Sofia's mother stared at the screen, sobbing, "Please… save us…"
Elito smiled faintly. "Obey, and you will live."
The cure became a leash.
In the safehouse, Lacolone slammed his fist against the wall.
Maya trembled. "He's turned hope into chains."
Jessica wiped her eyes. "It's worse than death."
Valgor grinned. "Finally… a worthy enemy."
Even the strongest felt despair.
Elito lifted a chalice of black liquid.
"Drink of my covenant," he commanded, "and live. Reject me… and rot."
Stadiums full of starving people bowed as one.
His eyes pierced through every screen. "I am not asking. I am declaring."
The serpent crowned himself king.
Sofia's father hurled a rock at the television, glass exploding.
"Monster! You killed her!"
His wife clung to him, crying, "Don't! They'll hear!"
Outside, the neighbors knelt, chanting louder to drown him out.
Even defiance became a whisper inside a choir of submission.
Elito's throne loomed across every remaining screen, his arms wide, the earth glowing beneath his feet.
"The New World Order," he said, smiling, "has only just begun."