This Is How The World Ends Book Novels & Stories

It's just that I've heard so many things about the end of the world and it just hunts me and makes me think too deeply. What if there will be no new era after this? What if we're just looking forward to nothing? What if the 'end of the world' in the book I've read really is true? What if the mess that humans made is already too much to handle that it'll even give up on fighting to keep us alive? No one knows... And that's why we definitely need to succeed for this. We aren't heroes but we can still save this world without those damn powers from fantasy books that really keep on making me wonder but that's just useless so better just focus on this mission than think of useless things.

"You think just because your parents are dead, the rest of us have to treat you like a princess? I've put up with it, fine. But Brianna is not your punching bag." Everything went still. I stared at him like I was looking at a stranger. My parents died because they were heroes. They stepped in to save someone and were killed for it. I didn't even find out until sophomore year, when the man who did it was finally caught. The day I went to the cemetery, both Dexter and Brianna stood at my mother's grave and swore they'd take care of me, that they'd never let me be hurt. Now one of them was crying like I was the one who'd wronged her, and the other had his arms locked around her, looking at me l

Forever. End of book 36

Aurora whispered, "They solved it." "Yes," Eliane said. "Then what happened?" The memory changed. The two moons vanished. The sky burned. Luna saw mountains collapsing, oceans rising, cities disappearing beneath enormous waves. Darius stared. "The world ended anyway." A voice answered through the book: "Yes." Luna felt a pang of unexpected pain in that answer. They had solved the great conflict, they had learned, they had changed, and history had not rewarded them with immortality. Their civilization ended because the world itself changed. The survivors carried fragments forward: stories, instinct, memory, the Origin, the Severance, and one warning.

This was the end for me. And then— BOOM! The world went dark.

“Something else woke with her. We have to move. Now.” As they fled the collapsing ruin, the wind screamed and the flame whispered behind them: The world ends in fire... or in the hand that dares hold it.

“Classic.” Further down the aisle, another section glowed faintly. WILLA ROANE – PROPOSED ENDINGS. A chill crawled down my back. I pulled one of those books. Opened it. The first page was the Standard Ending door I’d already seen: me in the car, crash, nothing. Another volume: Tragic Author Ending—me fused into the Core, eyes dull. A third: Hero Dies, System Survives—me throwing myself into some code‑storm while Corvin was dragged back into bound service, Selene re‑crowned, Jax promoted to handler.

we weren’t deciding how this ends. We were deciding which one of us the world is willing to lose first.

Or rather, in a mere 23 years… World War 4 pushed the world to the verge of destruction. That’s when on the 23rd year, July 1st. One of the legendary twelve apostles of the God of Creation suddenly appeared, and ‘it’ decided to put an end to everything. ‘It’ destroyed several of the strongest and leading causes countries of World War 4 in just three days by itself, alone. Even with full preparation to meet against his attacks, not a single one of them is able to take down the apostle— even if it’s the powerful celestial gods who are just one rank below them.

I stood before it for a moment with my hands at my sides, looking at the dark, worn cover, the spine that had no title, the pages whose edges had a faint luminescence that might have been age or might have been something else entirely. Then I picked it up. The world ended. That is the only way I can describe it, not darkness, not pain, not a simple sensation, but the total and violent ending of the world I had been standing in one moment before and my simultaneous arrival in every other world that had ever been or could have been. Images. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands. Wars I had no name for, fought by people whose faces I’d never seen, on landscapes that didn’t match any geography I