In the midst of the broken earth, where twisted metal claws at the heavens and blackened trees stand as charred sentinels, the beast of the apocalypse moves with dreadful purpose. Its colossal form is wreathed in smoke and shadow, eyes burning like dying suns, claws slick with the remnants of humanity. There are no cries, no whispers of hope—only the echo of footsteps crushing dreams and skulls alike. In this wasteland, the last traces of civilization are erased beneath the monster’s relentless advance.
The heavens open with a thunderous roar, golden rays piercing the gloom. Angels, their wings aglow with celestial fire, descend in formation, their faces etched with sorrow and resolve. Among them, Jesus radiates serenity and strength, his robes unblemished even as he surveys the carnage below. The air shimmers as their presence brings a fleeting sense of hope to the forsaken land, but the silence of death remains unbroken.
As the angelic host fans out across the wasteland, searching desperately for survivors, only hollow wind and dust answer their calls. Jesus kneels among the ruins, sifting ash through his fingers, eyes shining with tears. "There is nothing left. We have come too late," he whispers, voice trembling with grief. The angels falter, wings drooping, their light flickering as despair takes root.
Thunder cracks as the beast charges, its roar shaking the very sky. The first angel meets it in a blaze of swords and song, but is torn apart, feathers drifting like snow. One by one, the angels fall—wings snapped, halos shattered, their cries swallowed by the beast’s unending fury. The earth trembles beneath each blow, and soon only Jesus remains, standing alone amidst the silence and ruin.
Jesus[/@ch_1] confronts the beast; a titanic battle unfolds beneath the bloodied sky.]
Lightning splits the heavens as Jesus faces the beast, his countenance calm but resolute. The beast lunges, claws slashing, while Jesus counters with words of love turned to shields of light. They clash, shaking mountains and splitting the sky, dust and flame swirling around them. For what feels like an eternity, neither yields, but at last the beast overpowers Jesus, trampling him beneath its monstrous feet.
With a triumphant roar, the beast leaves the shattered earth behind, its form swelling with unholy might. Clouds part as it surges upward, wings of darkness unfurling, thunderbolts scattering before its wrath. The gates of heaven shimmer in the distance, their golden light now tinged with foreboding. The beast laughs—a dreadful, echoing sound—as it prepares to confront the divine throne itself.
The throne room is vast and resplendent, pillars of crystal reaching into the infinite sky, rivers of light flowing beneath a floor of stars. God stands at the center, his presence both comforting and commanding, halo blazing with the last vestiges of hope. The beast storms forward, taunting, its voice a thunderclap of scorn. God meets its gaze, eyes filled with sorrow and defiance.
God[/@ch_2] clash; after a brief but cataclysmic struggle, the beast kills God, crushing his head in ultimate triumph.]
The heavens quake as beast and creator collide, light and shadow warring with apocalyptic fury. Stars flicker and die as the struggle shakes the cosmos, but the beast’s strength is overwhelming. With a final, savage blow, it strikes down God, pressing him to the ground. With a terrible sense of finality, the beast crushes God’s head beneath its monstrous foot, the act echoing through all creation—a last, brutal humiliation.
