Father Elijah: An Apocalypse Novels & Stories

Silas clicked his tongue in annoyance, his patience wearing thin. Elijah stood awkwardly in the midst of their bickerings. It was just like growing up again, only this time they weren't yelling in each other's faces, blaming the other person for the defect in his genes. “I called the agency,” his father announced, tipping his chin up with an air of suspicion suddenly purging the air. “They said they saw you leaving with that bastard,” his tone dropped and so did Elijaj's heart. “… after having a fight.” His heart hammered differently, cold sweat breaking out on his face. He gulped, trying to keep a straight look as his father's eyes scanned for a reaction.

The quiet, steady breaths coming through the phone seemed to stretch on, and if one listened closely enough, one might have even heard the faint sound of Elijah's heartbeat. "Elijah, I like the color red, but not the color of blood." Elijah's voice darkened. "I understand. I won't do it again." There was no trace of laughter now. The pain was clear in his voice, a sign that he wasn't forcing himself. "Goodnight, Liesel. I hope you don't dream of me tonight." He didn't want her to dream of the car accident, or of the bloodshed he'd carefully orchestrated. When the call ended, Elijah placed his hand on his forehead, feeling the heat radiating from it. He clicked his tongue, realizing he had a

However, seeing that it was the Fike family, he showed them some respect. "Don't play dumb!" On the other hand, Elijah was not in the mood to talk. "Rhea kidnapped my son and injected him with some virus. Now, my son is suffering from the side effects. Suppose you don't hand her over, fine. We'll just wait here until she shows up!" It seemed like they were here to start a protracted war. The words Elijah said shocked Fabian and Maria, as well.

Then he took a step back, dropped on his knees, and shouted, “Father, your son has failed you!” A look of pure discontent settled on Mr. Barlow's face as he said, “Stop the act. You are a snake, sly and poisonous.” With his gaze fixed on Rome, Dash thought, ‘If Elijah is a sly and poisonous snake, then I wondered how you would describe the man who's causing the storms in your family?’ Hanging his head low, Elijah faked a sniff and mumbled, “I know that this might look wrong, but I did it all for you, father.”

"The temple also gave you a magic customer service voice. Maybe it has bugs." [Temple records do not have bugs.] I looked up. "You heard that?" The first argument in the new temple was about where people could pee. That was the moment the apocalypse became real to me. Not the dead. Not the system. Not my impossible brother's name burning on a divine tablet. It was Aunt Lan standing in the kitchen with a flashlight under her chin, declaring that if people wanted to survive in a holy place, they could start by not turning the courtyard into a sewer.

Handwriting from twelve years ago — the strokes heavier than they were now, the flourishes drawn wide and loose, like someone who wasn't afraid of wasting paper. I turned to page twelve. A layout diagram of the bunker. Seven bunks, one incubation unit, the storeroom at the end of the hallway, the concrete-sealed door nearly two feet thick. In the bottom right corner of the diagram, a note in my own handwriting: "The apocalypse has to feel real. Push the heat up, make the water filthy — let the audience practically smell it. Rotate the insiders every season, keep one genuinely unwitting participant — protects the ratings." After "genuinely unwitting," there was a note in parentheses. Just one

“You don’t understand. He’s not holding a gun to my head. I choose to answer when he calls. I even get to choose whether to obey or not.” “Why?” John pleaded, his own pain echoing in the word. “God, Elijah, why? What terrible things has he made you do?” Elijah pulled the blanket tighter around himself, his gaze drifting to some distant, awful memory. “When I was fifteen,” he began, his voice hollow, “my stepfather… he was Zhedya’s uncle. He was a violent drunk. Liked to use me and my mom as his personal punching bags.” He met John’s eyes, his own filled with a shame so deep it was painful to see. “One night, he had her by the throat. Something in me just… broke. I hit him with a fire poker.

“He poses a danger that—” “Don’t you dare say what you’re about to say,” I snapped, breaking meeting protocol. “My father did what he did out of grief, because he lost his mate. Anger plunged him into a cocoon of absurd stubbornness, and today Elijah is paying the price. He did nothing; he paid dearly for the situation, and if you haven’t realized it, it’s not Elijah who is using the dark power to hurt everyone. He lives his life with his people, isolated, respecting everything, bringing out the best in the population. Who is the one really acting like the tyrant you think Elijah would be?” No one said a word; my anger was clear, and the situation was even clearer.

A single heartbeat. Then— The creak of a door. She turns. And there he is. Not Father Elijah. Just Elijah. The collar is gone. His sleeves are rolled. His chest rises and falls like he’s been holding his breath for three days straight. His eyes? Tormented. Wild. Hungry. “I’ve been trying to save you,” he says, voice low, frayed at the edges. “But every time you open your mouth, every time you walk through those doors… I fall deeper into hell.”

Eli’s POV The world outside was steeped in darkness. Night had descended rapidly, devouring any remains of warmth. I stood on the edge of the debris, the cool wind piercing into me like a knife. The dust has begun to settle around what used to be a stronghold of terror and manipulation—a shattered monument to my father’s sick ambition. But as I saw the ruins, I realized this wasn’t the end. It was only the start of something darker. I felt Eli’s presence alongside me before he spoke, his warmth pouring through the chill. “He’s not gone,” he whispered quietly, his voice both a comfort and a threat. “You know that, don’t you?”