Apocalipsis Novela Novels & Stories

It was beyond their knowledge. Clearing his throat, Zadicus began to say, telling them. “Tales of Grievances, Page 1, Dimension of Katastrofi is an imitation of inferno. It was a devilishly long path, an abyss. Unspeakable blasphemy resides there, no human should extend their steps towards a portion of His World. Return. Return. Return.” Tristan and Huzefa eyes widened in appall, not expecting Zadicus would have known about this. What he read about decades ago was now before him.

He gently caressed her cheek with his palm and she swatted him away like an annoying fly still glaring waiting for his answer. "A demon Ally and next to Lucifer you’re THE demon. Your fate is to be the queen of darkness here on this plain, as is it mine to be your King." Drake had never felt so proud and the more she resisted him the more he wanted her. " Queen. Apocalypse. Yours. I don’t think so. Why would I want to help bring about the apocalypse? My father might be a demon, but my mother was human. Part of me is still human. So don't sit there and start with this fate crap because I make my own fate. I refuse to believe that this is the only way." She said it with full hearted conv

The reinforced steel gate opened slowly. Years of dust and weather groaned through its heavy hinges as sunlight spilled across the concrete courtyard beyond. No one lowered their weapons immediately. Neither side trusted easily anymore. That was what almost three years of the apocalypse had taught everyone. Natasha remained where she was, her heartbeat had finally begun to settle, but her thoughts had not. The image of the Night Hunter being thrown backward replayed over and over inside her mind. It's not as if she touched or fired at it. She hadn't even raised her hand, yet something inside her responded.

People still checked phones with no signal, locked doors that ghosts ignored, and argued about property lines while the dead waited politely on the sidewalk. The strangest part was how ordinary fear became once it had chores. A man could be terrified of his dead wife in the mirror and still ask where to put donated blankets. A child could carry incense with both hands and complain it smelled like old homework. No one got used to it. They only got better at moving before fear froze them. Zhao Feng's burning whistle dragged him back by the ankle. The living survivors saw it on every incense flame. For the first time since the apocalypse began, gods looked afraid of human law.

Some doors still hung open. Others had blood smeared across them. No military. No police. No rescue convoys. Only silence, which was broken occasionally by distant sirens echoing through the valley below. The apocalypse had moved beyond panic. Now came the collapse. Evelyn stepped over scattered belongings near the edge of the motel lot while Rowan crouched briefly beside an abandoned SUV. “Tank’s empty,” he muttered. Of course it was. Fuel had already become survival. The electronic tone rang softly through Evelyn’s skull.

My eyes widened and I nearly fell off the bed, fearful bumps rising all over my body. ​What in the world? Does this thing want to get me killed? ​Forget the penalty for a second. Just getting close to that madman was enough to get me killed before the timer even ran out! ​There is literally no one in this city who does not know Lucien Giovanni. Even now, while the world is still normal, his name is spoken in terrified whispers. And after the apocalypse began, he became even more notorious. He didn't just survive the end of the world; he thrived in it.

Aphrodite hovered nearby, barefoot despite the falling debris, her body luminous, lips painted like the fires above, hair drifting in the currents like it obeyed a gravity all its own. “You should’ve stayed dead,” Vaethea hissed, dodging a wave of molten light that liquefied a drone midair. Sparks showered like raindrops on cracked asphalt. “And you should’ve stayed kind,” Aphrodite replied softly, cruelly, flicking her fingers and watching a whole office tower crumble into granular dust that scattered like sand in the wind. The streets below were a chaos of collapse. Civilians ran, some trapped beneath overturned vehicles, others screaming into digital voids as their comms failed, signals l

The pain of being dismembered was so precise, so unbearable, he could still feel it now. This was not a dream. Holding his head, he replayed the fifteen days of the apocalypse in his mind. They were too concrete, down to every second—especially the last moments. There was only one possibility. "I… I've been reborn." He fumbled for his phone. The date on the screen read March 1. The apocalypse had happened on June 1—he remembered it exactly because he had planned to take his son to an amusement park that day. They'd just stepped outside when the hail began; one ball hit him and the pain had made him question his life.

I picked up the journal on the table, turned to a pristine new page, and wrote the first line. [Apocalypse Year One, Day One. Weather: Clear. [I await the fading of crises and chaos, when all things wake to a rebirth.]