The Rapture Novels & Stories

Future shall be told where chaos rises, The fabric of realms and realities shall be torn apart, Thee fallen shall rise again, Impending doom awaits, The protectors of earth realm shall fall-- Thus, witness as Chaos And Apocalypse is unleashed. He panted heavily as he dropped to the floor before the lights faded. Raphael descended from the sky in his usual attire. He emitted flares from his eyes and his body glowed white. His brows were knitting and his forehead was creased. He snapped his finger and everyone fell without hesitation. Both all witches that reunited and the rest of them.

He just wished he could have stayed to watch his pretty goddess rot. The three of them ran down the trail to the car and left her body for the vultures. Raphael had made this hike dozens of times and each time, he saw and felt something new. He hoped to have a powerful experience here; one that would get his life back on track. Instead, a tingly feeling crept up his spine. The kind of feeling he recognized well and had been fleeing from for a while now. The kind of feeling he got when someone prayed for help. Although he knew he could do nothing, he also understood he couldn’t run from it this time. He could only go toward it.

“Lena, get back.” Lena barely heard him. The Rift pulsed inside her, urging her forward. Her body wavered between resistance and submission, caught in an invisible current too strong to escape. The Rift’s avatar stepped closer, his dark gaze pinning her in place. “You cannot run from what you are.” A sharp pain flared in Lena’s skull. Visions surged behind her eyes—a ruined city, a blood-red sky, hands outstretched in desperation, calling her name. She gasped, stumbling back.

“This isn’t witchcraft. It’s not wolf-binding. It’s not drakon-silencing. This is—” The Chamber floor cracks. Rhea’s aura blasts outward. Everything goes white.

Rhys said, his hands trembling as he pulled up a visual feed from the home-sector. The image showed the Grand Rink—the heart of their world—not being attacked, but being Unmade. The Rifts weren't closing; they were being Erased by a force that looked like liquid charcoal. And in the center of the darkness stood a figure they hadn't seen in a hundred cycles.

The celestial beings, unseen but ever-present, whispered cosmic melodies that resonated with the very essence of the universe. In the inciting incident of this cosmic crescendo, Victoria and Alexander, hands still connected, began to channel their intentions into the celestial ritual. The symbols on the walls responded, creating an ethereal dance that mirrored the couple's aspirations. Scenes from the lives of astral beings played out around them, each moment contributing to the cosmic symphony that enveloped the entire astral realm.

Just when I felt suffocated, my phone rang. "Laura, I've spoken to my superiors and was able to get you a chance to make a transfer! Congratulations! You'll be able to enroll with us in two weeks' time!" After hearing those words, I finally felt relieved. Tears began streaming down my cheeks. It was tears of joy. I could finally leave this city and the Jackson family. I thanked the staff from the University of Quiles and was about to head home to get the necessary documents to make the transfer. What I didn't expect was that when I opened the door, the house was filled with dazzling lights. It was a party.

“Yes, Maelva. She shall carry no wolf, neither shall she bear any supernatural scent. Yet within her blood shall sleep the power to restore.” Maelva went still. His eyes turned to the next page. The language was written in Fraelt. Maelva read it out loud. “When the last human survives the fall of her kingdom, the Ralta shall awaken.” “Ralta? Is there another person we should be aware of?” Maelva asked Seraphine. “I don’t think so, Maelva. I think the Moonbound is also the Ralta.” Silence filled the library as they both thought hard.

And Elthara, caught in its center, collapsed with a silent scream. The Spiral was not fire anymore. It was raw motion—untamed, relentless, eternal. It screamed through her veins like a storm without sky, dragging centuries of unspoken truths behind it. Her body convulsed on the altar as visions flashed beneath her lids: cities drowned in ash, gods wailing with stitched mouths, Kael reaching for her through blood and flame. Her hands clawed at the stone, trying to anchor herself to something—anything—but even time refused to hold her.

"Born with these gifts, not infected with them. These Ascended are thieves, stealing power that doesn't belong to them. We must strike first or be destroyed." The second movement was somehow worse. The Ascension Church, founded by a charismatic pastor named John Redfield, claimed the transformation was divine intervention. The Rapture. God elevates humanity to its rightful place above all other creatures. "We have been chosen," Redfield preached to thousands of Ascended followers. "God has given us these gifts so that we may rule the Earth as was always intended. The age of monsters is over. The age of mankind begins now." Both movements were gaining followers