The sound of debris falling echoed through the ruins of the city as Marta Silva, her eyes fixed on the dark sky, felt a crushing weight on her shoulders. Each falling star seemed like an accusation, a reminder that the world was being judged, and she along with it. Her Bible, worn by time and use, lay open in her trembling hands, but the words now seemed distant, almost unrecognizable.
"Lord, where are you?" she murmured, but she knew she was condemned. She had preached about salvation, about faith, but deep down, it had all been a mask for her quest for power and recognition.
Miguel Almeida, beside her, watched the pages of the Bible with a growing sense of panic. He couldn’t understand how, despite everything, he was still there, left behind. "Why did He leave us behind?" he asked.
Marta closed her eyes, trying to block out Miguel's words, but they only reinforced what she already knew. When she opened her eyes, her voice was cold, lacking the firmness it once had: "Because we never truly believed, Miguel. We lied, to others and to ourselves. And now we are paying the price."
While Marta wrestled with the truth of her condemnation, José Batista patrolled the area around the church with firm steps, but his mind was in turmoil. He had always prided himself on his ability to control any situation, on his strength and discipline. But now, that strength seemed useless in the face of a reality he had refused to confront: he had never truly believed.
Suddenly, he spotted a group of people in the distance, moving stealthily among the shadows. They were no different from him: desperate survivors, perhaps dangerous. José instinctively reached for the empty holster at his waist. He had always trusted weapons more than prayers, and now he was disarmed both physically and spiritually.
"Hey, José!" Miguel called, running toward him. "Do you think they're a threat?"
José narrowed his eyes, focusing on the movement. Something inside him, a voice he had always ignored, whispered that his arrogance was about to be confronted.
"Could be," he replied, without taking his eyes off the group. "If we don't maintain order, this will turn into an even worse hell."
Miguel hesitated, his nervousness evident. "And what will we do? We have no weapons, and they... they look dangerous."
José turned to the young man, his gaze hardened by the reality beginning to penetrate his mind. "We need to keep our heads straight, Miguel. It's all we have left."
While José and Miguel faced the external danger, Joana Martins walked through the empty streets as if in a trance. The heels of her expensive shoes echoed a dissonant sound in the deserted streets. Her upright posture, her nose slightly upturned, was a reflection of her stubborn denial. Joana refused to accept the reality surrounding her, clinging desperately to the normalcy her mind insisted on preserving.
She entered a destroyed store, once a high-end boutique she frequented. The mannequins were broken, the luxurious dresses covered in dust and debris. Joana ran her hand over a torn dress...
"This is just a bad dream..." she murmured to herself, pulling the dress off the mannequin. "I’ll wake up, and everything will be just as it was before."
While Joana struggled to maintain her false sense of normalcy, Clara Soares, who observed her from afar, felt a deep sadness for her. Clara knew that Joana's denial would not protect her from what was to come. In a world where everything had changed, Joana's insistence on living as before seemed pathetic.
"Joana," Clara called, hesitantly. "This... this won't bring back what we lost."
Joana turned slowly, her eyes vacant, as if she had been awakened from a dream. "Don't be foolish, Clara. This will all pass. Everything will return to normal."
But Clara knew that reality was relentless. There was no more normalcy to return to, and the sooner Joana accepted this, the easier it would be for her. However, how could she say this to someone who had already lost so much?
Joana simply shook her head, retreating into her fantasy world as the dress slipped from her hands and fell to the dusty floor.
The fallen stars had left the sky in a dense darkness, only occasionally broken by distant flashes of destruction. Amidst this setting, Marta led a small group along the rocky slopes of the nearby mountains. The terrain was steep, but she insisted on moving forward, believing the mountains might offer some refuge. Marta knew it was just an illusion. She was condemned, and the only thing left was to wait for the end.
Miguel walked just behind, struggling to keep pace. He watched Marta with a mixture of admiration and doubt. Her strength was palpable, but Miguel couldn’t help but wonder if that strength came from genuine faith or simply a survival instinct.
"Marta, do you think God is guiding us here?" Miguel asked, his voice hesitant, almost fearing the answer.
Marta paused for a moment, looking up at the mountains. "I don't know, Miguel. Sometimes, it feels like we're just wandering in the dark, but..." She looked into the young man's eyes, trying to convey some certainty. "Even if the end is near, we can't just sit and wait for it."
Marta's words brought some comfort, but they didn't dispel the doubt lingering over the group. The path was difficult, and each step seemed more challenging than the last. However, the need to keep moving, to do something—anything—kept them going. They knew that in a world where everything was falling apart, the only thing left was to act, even if it wouldn't change anything in the end.
As Marta and her group climbed the mountain, José Batista stayed behind, patrolling the outskirts of the city. He knew that the greatest threat didn't come only from supernatural forces but also from desperate people who, like him, were struggling to survive. And then he saw them again: the same group from before, now closer and bolder.
They were a mix of men and women, their faces marked by desperation and hunger. José, driven by his military instincts, quickly realized they weren't just survivors looking for help; they were looters, ready to take whatever they could find. The ex-soldier clenched his fists, feeling the tension in his muscles. He was unarmed, but not defenseless.
"Hey!" he shouted, his firm and authoritative voice echoing through the deserted streets. "Don't take another step!"
The group paused for a moment, sizing him up with suspicious glances. One of the men, clearly the leader, stepped forward, a sarcastic smile on his lips.
"And who's going to stop us? You?" he taunted, his voice full of challenge.
José stepped forward, his gaze as hard as stone. "Yes, me. You may be desperate, but I won't allow you to bring more destruction to this place."
The looters laughed, but the laughter was hollow, devoid of humor, merely a reflection of the madness beginning to take hold of them. The group's leader abruptly stopped laughing and advanced toward José, who did not back down.
"Let's see what you're capable of, soldier," the man said with contempt.
Without further warning, the confrontation began. Despite being outnumbered, José fought with the skill of a man who had faced death before. His movements were precise, trained, but the lack of a weapon made the situation even more dangerous. The group advanced on him, and the sound of blows, shouts, and bodies colliding echoed through the streets. It was a fight for survival, and José knew that if he fell, there would be no one left to protect the others.
While José's fight unfolded, Clara Soares was hiding with her young son in an abandoned house, far enough not to hear the confrontation but close enough to feel the danger. The boy was quiet, frightened, his large brown eyes fixed on his mother.
She knew they couldn't stay there much longer. The provisions they found in the house were scarce, and the safety of this hideout was temporary. But what tormented her most was the uncertainty. How could she ensure her son's survival? How could she protect him when the entire world seemed bent on destroying them?
Clara held the boy in her arms, pressing him against her chest as silent tears streamed down her face. She needed to be strong, but every time she looked at her son, she felt like she was failing.
"It will be okay, my love," Clara whispered, stroking the boy's hair. But the words came out weak, as if she didn't believe them herself.
The boy, not fully understanding what was happening, simply snuggled closer to his mother, seeking the warmth and comfort only she could offer. Clara knew she could no longer wait. She needed to find a way out, a safe place where they could wait for the end of the judgment. She wiped away her tears and kissed her son's forehead.
Determined, Clara began gathering what was left of the food and water, preparing to leave the hideout. The world outside was dangerous, but staying put would be worse. She looked at her son one last time, drawing strength from the purity of his eyes, before standing up, ready to face whatever came with a courage only a mother could find.
Meanwhile, the distant sound of thunder echoed in the mountains, as if the very sky was about to collapse on them.
The darkness enveloping the city seemed to grow denser with each passing minute, as if the world was being swallowed by a shadow no ray of light could pierce.
Marta Silva knelt at the top of the mountain, her eyes fixed on the starless sky. Around her, the few who had managed to follow her leadership gathered in silence, each lost in their own prayers and fears. Miguel Almeida, exhausted and confused, stood beside Marta, trying to find in her words some comfort, some certainty that all of this had a purpose.
"Marta..." Miguel began, his voice broken by doubt and anguish. "Is there still hope for us?"
Marta, her hands firmly gripping her Bible, lifted her tear-streaked face. "Miguel, hope is not something we can see or touch. It’s a choice, a faith we choose to hold onto even when everything seems lost."
She looked at the others around her, their pale faces and weary eyes reflecting the same fear that tormented Miguel. Marta knew that words were fragile in the face of the terror they faced, but she also knew that without hope, they were already defeated.
"I don’t know what will happen," Marta continued, her voice softly echoing among the rocks of the mountain. "But I do know that as long as we are together, as long as we keep faith in each other and in something greater, we won’t be alone."
As she spoke, José Batista climbed the mountain, staggering from the injuries sustained in the fight he had endured. His body was exhausted, but his will remained unbroken. He approached the group, leaning on a rock, and looked at Marta with a mix of respect and gratitude.
"They’re gone," he said, panting. "Most of the looters fled. We have a little more time."
Marta nodded, aware that this extra time was both a blessing and a curse. With José back in the group, she felt slightly stronger, but she also knew that time was running out.
Meanwhile, Clara Soares, with her son in her arms, reached the mountaintop, her eyes wide at the sight before her. Below, the city appeared as a field of silent ruins, and above, the sky flickered with a sinister light, as if the very fabric of the universe was tearing apart.
"Marta, look!" Clara shouted, pointing to the horizon.
Marta stood up, and all eyes followed the direction Clara indicated. The sky, once a dark and lifeless shroud, now pulsed with a strange and terrifying light. Waves of energy rippled through the firmament, as thunder echoed with an intensity never before heard. It was as if the very heavens were about to collapse.
"It’s the end..." Miguel whispered, unable to look away.
Marta felt a strange calm wash over her. The terror was still there, but there was something else—a sense of acceptance, a certainty that everything was unfolding exactly as it should. She turned to the group, her eyes shining with renewed strength.
"Whatever it is, we will face it together," Marta declared, taking Miguel’s hand. José, Clara, and the others drew closer, forming a tight circle, uniting in one final attempt to confront the inevitable.
The sound of thunder grew louder, now so intense it seemed to reverberate within their bones. The mountains trembled, and the sky began to split open like a scroll being torn in half. The light emanating from that tear in the sky was not welcoming, but neither did it bring immediate destruction. It was a portal, a passage, and what lay beyond it was something none of them could understand or describe.
"Do not fear," Marta said, her voice rising above the roar of the apocalypse. "Whatever our fate, it is part of the plan."
With those words, the light from the sky enveloped them, not as an attack but as an inescapable embrace. The mountains around them began to collapse, the rocks falling into the abyss that formed below. But the group, united, remained firm. Their tears of fear mingled with a sense of peace that surprised them.
And then, in an instant of absolute silence, the world unraveled. The fallen stars, the crumbled mountains, the ruined city—all were consumed by a white light that burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.
When the light finally dissipated, all that remained was a peaceful void and the certainty that, despite the end, they had faced their fate together.
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