..
The moment he confirmed his selection, the screen went black. An icy chill ran down his spine, shadows dancing at the edges of his vision. Outside, the trumpet blared once more, its mournful wail echoing across the dying world.
The Rapture is in process.
---
Location: Earth – South Africa – Johannesburg.
Year: 2026.
Date: February 12th.
Time: 6:38 AM.
POV: Third Person.
--
Damian stood by the window, his fingers gripping the frame so tightly his knuckles turned white. His breaths came in slow, measured draws, but no matter how much he tried to calm himself, the erratic pounding of his heart refused to settle.
Then, the third wail of the trumpet echoed through the air.
A deafening, otherworldly blast—it was so loud, so piercing, that it felt as if the sound itself had manifested beside his ears, shaking the very foundation of his skull. A sharp pain shot through his temples, forcing him to stagger back. His hands flew up, clamping over his ears in a futile attempt to block out the overwhelming noise. He winced, his teeth clenched as the trumpet's blaring wail seemed to stretch on forever.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
Silence rushed in like a flood, almost suffocating in its contrast. Damian hesitated before slowly lowering his hands, his ears still ringing from the intensity. He swallowed hard, his throat dry as he lifted his gaze toward the sky.
His breath hitched.
Red.
The sky was completely red, bathed in a deep, ominous hue, as if soaked in the blood of thousands. The sight rooted him in place, his lungs refusing to work as his mind struggled to process the horrifying spectacle. The world around him felt eerily still—too still. He expected something—anything—to happen. A storm, a voice from above, a sign of what was to come. But the world remained quiet, as if holding its breath along with him.
Seconds dragged by, and when nothing happened, his body finally remembered the need for air. He exhaled sharply, gasping as though he had been drowning.
With tense, careful steps, he moved closer to the window, pressing his forehead against the glass for a better view. His eyes darted toward his neighbors' houses.
Empty.
The yards, the porches, the sidewalks—deserted. No movement, no figures. Just an unnatural stillness, as if the entire neighborhood had been erased from existence.
A cold chill crawled down his spine.
His stomach twisted as he turned away from the window, rushing back into his room. He snatched his phone from the bedside table and quickly dialed his parents' number.
No service.
His jaw tightened. He tried again. Still nothing. He tapped his siblings' contacts one by one. The same result.
His fingers clenched around the device as frustration swelled within him.
Damian Derulo "Shit. No bars."
Grinding his teeth, he tossed the phone onto the bed and ran a shaky hand through his already disheveled hair. He needed to think. Needed to make sense of what was happening.
His mind raced through everything he had learned, everything he had ever heard about an event like this. The sky turning red. The trumpet blasts. The sudden disappearances.
The Rapture.
His lips curled into a weak, hollow smile.
Damian Derulo "Of course…"
A breathless chuckle escaped his lips as he shook his head.
Damian Derulo "I should've known. If this really is the Rapture, it's no surprise I wasn't taken along with them."
He said as a strange sense of resignation settled over him. It wasn't sadness, nor was it regret. Just a dull acceptance, like he had always known, deep down, that this was how things would go.
With a slow exhale, he grabbed his phone once more and made his way out of his room. The tiled floor made soft thuds beneath his steps as he walked into the spacious living room. His house was a large bungalow, with two grand parlors and six bedrooms. Yet, at that moment, it felt painfully empty.
He approached the couch and collapsed onto it, his body sinking into the cushions. His head tilted back, his gaze locked onto the ceiling as his mind played through countless scenarios.
The outward calmness he projected was a well-practiced ability, one he had honed over the years. On the surface, he appeared composed, his expression unreadable, but inside—inside, a storm raged. His heart pounded violently in his chest, his nerves were frayed, and an undeniable fear coiled in his gut like a venomous serpent.
But he wouldn't show it.
He had taught himself that a long time ago—how to keep his emotions buried beneath the surface, how to suppress his anxiety and fear, how to stop smiling at every person he spoke to, despite being an introvert who once found it second nature.
Closing his eyes, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his earbuds. He connected them to his phone and scrolled through his playlist before pressing play.
A low, pulsing bass filled his ears—slow beats, thick with an ominous aura, the kind of sound that thrummed through his bones and dulled the chaos inside his mind.
And so, he waited.
And waited.
And waited…
But the world had changed.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
---
Time: 10:21 AM
---
Several hours later, Damian's earbuds signaled that they were low on battery. He glanced at his phone and was surprised by how much time had passed. He walked back to his room while disconnecting the earbuds from his phone, placing them in their case, and plugging them in to charge. He looked around the room before heading to his desk, grabbing his black headset and placing it around his neck. His gaze then drifted to the window, where the sky was still red, sending a chill down his spine. His pulse quickened, a sense of fear creeping up. He turned away, irritated with himself. Fear was his greatest weakness, and it was a weakness he despised. It was one of the reasons he hated himself.
Damian walked back to the living room, each step accompanied by the soft thuds of his shoes against the floor. When he arrived, he stopped in place, surveying the empty room. No one was there. He had been waiting, hoping for the return of his parents. It had been several hours, and their whereabouts weren't far. It seemed as if they had been taken by the rapture.
Damian wouldn't be surprised if they were. His parents were devout Christians, the kind who never missed a single program at church.
Damian himself was also a devout Christian. He rarely did anything wrong, and even when he did, there was no one to sin against. So why was he left behind? Why was he still here? Damian had always suspected that God hated him, for many reasons. One reason was simple: he was born into a family of extroverts while he himself was a massive introvert. His junior sister loved to bother him and invade his privacy, even though she knew he hated it. She did it just to annoy him, and it felt like a daily hell.
He stood behind the shut front door, taking a deep breath. He pulled the hood of his black hoodie over his head and put on a black nose mask. His outfit was simple: a plain black hoodie, black pants, and black shoes. He was about to step outside. As much as he loved staying inside his safe haven, he had read too many novels to know that being alone in a situation like this wasn't good. Plus, despite his physique, he had never been in a fight, let alone thrown a punch. He needed to find a group of people. And if things went wrong, he was confident in his running speed—he could always just bolt if they encountered something dangerous.
Was he a coward? Maybe. But he remembered what his mother always said: "A fearful person lives the longest." Damian chuckled bitterly. They could face whatever they want bravely and courageously... But he'll be outta there. His dad was black and he had the black dude nature in him, so while others were taking pictures, he'd be over a hundred meters away, running for his life—life that he loathed.
He opened the front door and walked to the nearest neighbor's house. He stood in front of their door for a few seconds, then rang the doorbell.
*Ding Dong*
*Ding Dong*
He rang it again. After a few moments of silence, with no response, he turned away and walked back home, not bothering to look back.
Damian thought to himself, At least I tried. He locked the door behind him and walked to his room. He opened his wardrobe and took out a large hammer that he kept hidden there, then walked out again. He headed to the storage room, which his elder sister had once occupied, and grabbed a handful of thick four-inch nails. He placed them near the front door along with the hammer.
He walked back to the living room and grabbed an old, heavy wooden door. It was a door that had been replaced a long time ago. He carefully placed it diagonally behind the front door and began nailing it into place.
Since he couldn't find anyone after his "search," the next best thing was to barricade the house. The windows didn't need barricading, because they were protected by iron bars. He took another door and nailed it in an X shape over the front door, reinforcing it.
He did the same for the back door and then checked the garage. It was mostly empty except for a single bike, a large toolbox, and some spare car and bike parts stacked in a corner. The garage was about eleven meters long and seven meters wide.
Wondering why there were car parts but no car? It wasn't because his parents had driven them away. They had actually owned four cars—but that was before. The mechanic his father had entrusted the cars to for repairs sold them all. And what did his dad do about it? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Why? Because he was a "Christian." Damian couldn't help but imagine the mechanic's fate. He wished the man had been tied to a car with a long rope and be pulled along on a highway. Brutal? Maybe. But you should see what happened to thieves caught in his part of town.
Still, Damian knew that God never abandoned his people. Last he heard, the mechanic was suffering, and his wife had left him. Damian believed that was some form of punishment, but it still didn't make the loss of the cars any easier or make him feel better.
Damian locked the garage gate with three separate keys and headed back to his room. He sat down at his desk, his body a little out of breath from the physical exertion of the barricades.
Damian Derulo 'If demons were to come, will these barricades even hold? ' He wondered.' They're demons... the Bible says there will be nowhere to hide from them ' He sighed deeply, a mix of frustration and resignation filling him. ' What a waste of time... I want to die, but not painfully...'
When his thoughts turned to death. His body relaxed, his eyes squinted a little, as if he were sleepwalking. His gaze drifted to the bed. A memory suddenly flashed into his mind, and he stared at the bed for a few moments before sighing. He rose and went to check the extension where he had plugged in his earbuds. The red light blinked, indicating that they were still charging.
He turned and walked out of his room, only to return a moment later. He walked to his wardrobe, opened it, and pulled out two packets of noodles from his secret stash. His mother owned a convenience store about thirty minutes walk away from their house.
---
Time: 1:01 PM.
---
Damian sat in the living room, a steaming bowl of noodles resting on the table before him. Beside it sat a one-liter bottle of cold water, condensation beading along its surface. Holding the remote, he powered on the TV, flipping through channels in the hopes of finding some news—though deep down, he knew it was a futile effort.
Static. Blank screens. No signal.
Damian Derulo "Figures. No bars on the phone, so I kinda expected this. Wouldn't be surprised if the electricity gets cut off next," he thought, tossing the remote onto the table.
As if mocking him, the house was plunged into darkness.
Damian sat motionless for a few seconds, exhaling slowly. He reached for his headphones, connected them to his phone, and played a cartoon series to keep his mind distracted. Fork in hand, he twirled the noodles around and began eating. Minutes passed, and soon the bowl was empty, the water bottle more than halfway drained.
He stood, gathered his dishes, and made his way to the kitchen. After washing and putting everything away, he refilled the bottle and placed it back in the refrigerator. His next task was routine: he moved around the house, switching off all sockets. Despite the power outage, he flipped the switch on the solar machine. The house was equipped with several solar panels, charging backup batteries that could power it if needed.
Satisfied, he headed to his bedroom. A cold shower followed, washing away the fatigue lingering on his body. Stepping out, he dried off, threw on some clothes, and collapsed onto his bed. His eyes felt heavy. He always slept in the afternoons, and today was no different—except, perhaps, for the eerie silence that blanketed everything.
Damian Derulo "This might be the last peaceful sleep I ever have."
The thought sent a chill through him. His heart pounded, but before he could dwell on it, another thought surfaced—his family.
He came from a family of eight, himself included:
1. Firstborn – Female, 13 years older than Damian.
2. Secondborn – Female, 12 years older than Damian.
3. Thirdborn – Female, 5 years older.
4. Fourth – Damian, almost 22 years old.
5. Fifth – Female, 2 years younger.
6. Sixth – Male, 10 years younger.
Damian wasn't worried about the last born. If this truly was the Rapture, the kid was too young to be judged—he was surely taken. The third born? No doubt about it. She was the perfect example of a good Christian. Nightly prayers, Bible studies, wholesome friends, online sermons—the works. If she ever told Damian she was a virgin, he wouldn't even question it.
But the others…
The firstborn was strong, just like everyone in the Derulo family, but emotionally fragile. She was the only one Damian hoped wasn't left behind.
The secondborn was different—physically, emotionally, and mentally strong. She once beat up three guys trying to hit on her, so Damian wasn't too worried about her survival.
The third born, though… She was weak. Both physically and emotionally. But since Damian was certain she was taken, there was no reason to worry.
And then there was himself.
Mentally strong. The second-strongest in the family, right after their father. Standing somewhere between 195cm and 200cm, Damian towered over the rest. His light, pale skin contrasted against his lean yet muscular ectomorphic build. With black hair, black eyes, and sharp features, he was fairly handsome—not that he'd ever admit it. Objectively, he charm rank is 8/10 within Johannesburg, but worldwide? He'd be a solid 6.9/10, though his signature charming smile probably boosted that a bit. Not that it mattered—he always saw himself as just average, for one particular reason...
Now, the fifth born… That was a problem.
Damian was 100% sure she hadn't been taken. If he was left behind, then she definitely wasn't going anywhere. First off, she had a boyfriend, not a bad thing, but she met up with said boyfriend way more often than their parents knew, sometimes she ditches school to meet up with him, and that is just one of the many. If she somehow was taken, then Damian would have undeniable proof that God had a personal grudge against him.
As for the last born, a black-skinned boy, almost twelve years old—he'd be fine. At least… if this really was Rapture.
Thoughts of his family swirled in his mind, one after another, an endless loop of questions he couldn't answer. Eventually, exhaustion won over, and his consciousness drifted away.
For what might be the last peaceful sleep of his life.
---
Location: Earth – South Africa – Johannesburg.
Year: 2026
Date: February 15th
Time: 7:49 AM
POV: Third Person
---
*Brrrrr*
*Brrrrr*
Damian Derulo groaned as his phone vibrated loudly beside him.
Damian Derulo "Ugh, what a weird dream," he muttered, his voice rough from sleep. He reached for his phone, silenced the alarm, and set it back down. His eyes remained open for a few seconds before he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. A groggy sensation weighed on his body as he stood and made his way to the bathroom.
With each step, his joints popped, as if he hadn't moved in days. It was normal for him, but today, the sensation was oddly more pronounced. He found it strange but brushed it off.
After finishing his morning routine, he returned to his room and picked up his phone.
---
Date: 15th of February 2026
---
Damian frowned. "Friday? Yesterday was Tuesday."
His thoughts were interrupted by an ear-splitting sound.
*Doooonnnng*
It was deep, resonant, like the honk of a colossal ship. His pulse spiked as he instinctively turned toward the window. What he saw made his breath hitch.
The sky was red.
His face paled. A deep, visceral fear clawed at his chest.
Damian Derulo 'It wasn't a dream,' Damian realized, his body freezing as his heartbeat thundered in his ears.
Outside, voices—shouts, cries, screams. He swallowed dryly and peered through the glass. Chaos. People sprinted frantically through the streets, their faces twisted in terror. Some stumbled and fell, only to be trampled by the rushing crowd.
Damian Derulo "What the hell is going on?"
Panic clawed at his throat. He quickly shut the window and yanked the curtains closed, retreating from the sight.
His chest heaved. Deep breaths. In. Out. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn't calm himself.
And then—
---
[ Ding ]
---
Something had appeared.
.
.
.
.
.
To Be Continued....