As the whole world stopped a loud trumpet was played.
The first blast came like the roar of a thousand storms, tearing across the sky with a force that shook the earth beneath my feet.
I stood there—frozen—watching the heavens split open. Fire rained down. Not like fire in movies or even forest fires. This was divine, wrathful flame.
Trees were instantly reduced to ash. Rivers hissed into steam. One-third of the world—gone—scorched in the blink of an eye.
I could hear the screams of the earth itself, groaning as it was burned alive.
---
Then the second trumpet echoed, deeper, heavier.
Something vast fell from the sky—a mountain of fire crashing into the sea. The impact was catastrophic. Waves rose higher than cities. Ships cracked like paper, swallowed whole.
Blood stained the ocean, and the waters, once teeming with life, turned to death.
The smell… I could smell salt, iron, and something more—judgment.
A third of all marine life vanished. The sea was no longer blue, but red like wrath.
---
The third trumpet.
A star fell. No—not a star. Something far worse. It was as if heaven itself threw down a cursed flame. It crashed into the rivers and springs, and everything it touched turned bitter.
I watched a child drink from a stream, only to choke and collapse. People cried out, clawing their throats, cursing the heavens—but it was too late.
The waters had turned to poison. They called the star Wormwood. It tasted like regret.
---
The fourth trumpet blew—and darkness answered.
The sky didn't just dim; it died.
A third of the sun, moon, and stars were struck. Days were shortened. Nights stretched endlessly.
People stumbled through the shadows like blind men, some screaming at nothing, others tearing at their eyes just to see something again.
I could feel it—the world was unraveling, and hope was slipping through our fingers like sand.
---
Then came the fifth trumpet.
And I swear—hell itself opened.
Smoke poured from the Abyss, thick and suffocating, blotting out what little light remained. From that smoke came locusts.
But they weren't insects—these were twisted, demonic things. Wings of steel, faces like tormented men, tails like scorpions.
They didn't eat crops… they hunted us.
For five months, they tormented everyone who didn't bear the seal of God. I saw warriors fall to their knees, screaming. I saw proud men beg for death—but death ran from them.
Even suicide was denied.
---
The sixth trumpet—God help me—the sixth...
Four fallen angels were released, bound at the river Euphrates. Their freedom meant one thing: war.
Not just any war—a slaughter.
An army, two hundred million strong, moved like a tide of death. I heard the thunder of their hooves. Fire, smoke, and sulfur spewed from their mouths.
A third of mankind died. Cities burned. Families were erased.
The world echoed with screams and silence—both unbearable in their own way.
---
Then—quiet.
The seventh trumpet sounded.
But unlike the others, it didn't bring fire or poison or beasts.
It brought finality.
The heavens cracked—not in fury—but in glory. Voices rose like thunder:
"The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of His Christ, and He shall reign forever and ever."
I fell to my knees. Not because I was forced… but because something in me broke—and something new was born.
The mystery of God was complete.
---
While we stood there—me, my mother, my father, and my two baby sisters—huddled together under a sky that cracked and wept with judgment, there was little doubt in our hearts.
We weren't afraid anymore.
Despite the chaos, despite the thunder, we felt peace.
A strange warmth pulsed over us like a wave. And in that moment, we knew… we had been sealed.
The seal of God.
---
I looked at my sisters—one clinging to our mother's dress, the other quietly looking up with eyes that still didn't understand the world—and I smiled, even as tears stung my eyes.
My father wrapped his arms around all of us, whispering a shaky prayer.
And then…
Everything turned white.
The world faded.
Not just the noise or the ground, but everything. Even the sense of time.
---
I blinked.
When I opened my eyes, I was no longer standing on Earth.
I was floating—no, sitting—on a space that wasn't ground, but didn't feel like the sky either.
The air itself shimmered.
---
Then, an angel appeared.
No ordinary angel.
From one glance, I could recognize him.
It was the Archangel Michael.
He descended from the radiant sky without a sound, his presence parting the light like a blade through mist. Six wings shimmered behind him, not with feathers, but with flowing essence—something between fire and divine brilliance.
His armor bore no marks, no symbols, and yet it radiated authority. An overwhelming pressure surrounded him, not suffocating, but impossible to ignore—like the air itself bowed in reverence.
He hovered a short distance away, his eyes—calm, unreadable—focused solely on me.
I remained silent.
The Archangel studied me, as if weighing my existence on scales far beyond mortal comprehension.
Then, he spoke—his voice quiet, yet gentle to my ears.
"Aiden."
---
The Archangel's eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in contemplation. His six wings barely shifted, suspended in the golden air as though gravity itself obeyed him.
"Aiden," he said again, softer this time. "You are worthy… and yet, unworthy."
The angel's gaze settled on me.
"I see," he said, voice deep and resonant, like it echoed through the fabric of the world itself.
I opened my mouth, unsure of what to say, but the words caught in my throat. My heart pounded, instincts screaming that this wasn't just some dream.
Then, without warning, he raised his hand.
A soft glow surrounded it—pure, blinding, divine.
The moment his fingers pointed toward me, the world cracked.
Light surged forward, swallowing everything.
My body felt weightless. Thought faded.
Sound, sensation, even fear—gone in an instant.