In Why I Am Catholic: The Last Judgment, a dystopian Catholic vision of the End Times unfolds as the world plunges into chaos. Amid war, disaster, and economic collapse, global leaders unite under a New World Order, endorsed by Pope Adrian VII, who declares a new progressive faith. The Vatican embraces same-sex marriage, transgender identity, abortion, and communism, while a mandatory microchip—viewed by the resistance as the Mark of the Beast—is introduced to control all financial transactions. Those who refuse the chip or resist the New Order are arrested or disappear. The last free nation, the United States, initially defies the regime under President Jonathan Slater, but after his assassination, his successor submits, declaring America will lead the global government.
As oppression intensifies, a Catholic underground movement, led by Bishop Carlo Rinaldi, continues the true faith in secret Masses while Protestant rebels like James Holloway begin converting. The final battle erupts at Megiddo, where Christian rebels attempt to free prisoners held in underground camps. Outnumbered by the UN’s military forces, the resistance fights desperately—until the heavens split open. Christ returns in glory, the dead rise, and judgment falls upon the corrupt rulers of the world. The New World Order collapses, and for the faithful, eternity begins.
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The Last Judgment
Introduction
This is a work of fiction—a slight departure from my usual genre. It is my personal interpretation of the End Times, inspired by Catholic eschatology. While popular culture has embraced Protestant perspectives on the apocalypse, as seen in works like Left Behind, there is little representation of a Catholic vision of the final days.
In this story, the Catholic Church falls into apostasy and becomes the Whore of Babylon, with a fictional Pope assuming the role of the Antichrist. However, this is not to suggest that the Church today is corrupt or that, should it ever stray into heresy, it should be abandoned. On the contrary, as this story illustrates, Catholics must hold fast to the true faith, even when its highest leaders fail. When our shepherds lead us astray, we are called to stand firm in the Gospel, to be faithful despite their betrayal.
Scripture tells us that the wheat and the tares will grow together until the end of time (Matthew 13:30). The Church has always endured both saints and sinners in its ranks, and it will be purified in the final judgment. As Catholics, our task is not to flee when corruption takes root but to uphold the faith, to resist falsehood, and to remain steadfast in Christ.
This story is an exploration of that struggle.
Prologue
The world had always teetered on the edge of chaos, but now it had plunged headlong into the abyss. Wars erupted across continents, old enmities reignited, and new hatreds were born. Cities burned, their skeletal remains reflected in the rising tides as tempests lashed the coastlines. Earthquakes split nations, and disease swept through the populace faster than governments could respond. Famine followed, then death. It seemed the end of history had arrived.
Amid the cataclysm, the world’s leaders did the unthinkable—they united.
Under the banner of the United Nations, the World Health Organization, and the World Economic Forum, a New World Order emerged. It promised peace, stability, and an end to suffering. The Pope himself, in a moment that shook Christendom, blessed this global governance, calling upon all faiths to unite under a single, ecumenical religion. For a brief moment, the world sighed in relief. Wars ceased. Economies flourished. Then, the oppression began.
Chapter One: A World in Turmoil
Television screens across the globe flickered with images of war, famine, and devastation. News anchors—pale, exhausted, hollow-eyed—read from scripts with trembling voices as footage of bombed-out cities, burning forests, and mass graves played on repeat.
“In Europe,” the anchorwoman said, her voice tight with strain, “the Eastern War has entered its third year. Casualties now surpass twenty million. Entire regions lie in ruins as the conflict spills across national borders.”
The screen shifted to scenes of plumes rising over shattered apartment blocks, followed by a shaky cellphone video of refugees swarming across a broken bridge.
“The Middle East remains ablaze,” she continued, “with competing factions battling for dominance. In Asia, ongoing skirmishes between superpowers have left once-thriving industrial zones irradiated and uninhabitable.”
The camera zoomed in on satellite images of scorched coastlines and abandoned megacities.
“Meanwhile, North and South America are gripped by economic collapse, spiraling crime, rolling blackouts, and internal unrest. Across Africa and Australia, unprecedented floods, fires, and earthquakes have rendered entire provinces unrecognizable.”
She paused, visibly shaken. A silence hung in the studio—too long, too loud—before she finally spoke the words everyone feared to acknowledge.
“Earlier today,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “the world came closer to annihilation than at any point in recorded history.”
The screen shifted to maps of the Northern Hemisphere illuminated in stark red.
“Intelligence confirms that the United States, China, Russia, North Korea, and Iran simultaneously entered full nuclear readiness. Launch systems were activated. Missile doors opened. Submarine fleets surfaced into attack positions. All major nuclear nations stood seconds—seconds—from releasing their arsenals.”
Footage appeared of world capitals: citizens running, sirens wailing, soldiers rushing into fortified positions.
“High-level communications intercepted by NATO indicate that multiple leaders believed a first strike was imminent. Several launch authorizations were nearly signed. According to U.N. analysts, the world avoided a nuclear exchange by a margin described as”—she swallowed—“‘less than a breath.’”
Global stock markets had already crashed. Communication networks still sputtered from the overload of emergency signals. Religious leaders urged repentance. Governments urged calm. Social media flooded with shaky videos of families kneeling in living rooms, praying as alerts blared through their phones.
“But at the final moment,” the anchorwoman said, “a breakthrough occurred. Cooler heads prevailed. Diplomatic channels re-opened. All launch protocols were aborted.”
Her posture straightened as the camera panned out.
“And now,” she concluded, “amid this unprecedented crisis, world leaders have convened in Geneva for an emergency G-20 summit. The goal: to establish a lasting peace—by any means necessary.”
She stared into the camera, eyes glassy, as if she no longer recognized the world she was reporting on.
“The summit begins in one hour,” she said. “The future of the human race may depend on what happens next.”
Chapter Two: The Summit
The grand hall of the United Nations Headquarters was filled with the murmuring of presidents, prime ministers, and monarchs. At the center of it all stood the UN Secretary-General, his lined face grave as he raised a hand for silence.
“Distinguished leaders of the world,” he began, his voice echoing in the chamber, “we stand at the precipice of annihilation. We have witnessed the collapse of nations, the suffering of billions. The time for division has passed. We must unite, not only in policy but in purpose. We must form a single government—a New World Order—to guide humanity forward.”
A murmur swept through the assembly. Some nodded; others shifted uneasily. Then, the Pope stepped forward, his white robes pristine against the dark suits surrounding him.
“In the name of peace,” he declared, “we must lay aside our differences. God does not desire war, nor does He wish for mankind to suffer under the weight of outdated dogmas. We must embrace unity, not only as nations but as faiths. We must dismantle the barriers of doctrine that have divided us and forge a new, universal religion—one of love, acceptance, and progress.”
The hall erupted into applause. Some leaders hesitated but, seeing the tide turn, they too joined in.
Chapter Three: The Great Apostasy
The changes came swiftly. In the Vatican, the Church hierarchy redefined doctrine to align with the new global ethos. Same-sex marriage, transgender identity, and abortion were no longer sins but celebrated expressions of individual freedom. Communism was endorsed as the ideal economic system, and all major world religions were declared equal, with Jesus Christ no longer held as the singular path to salvation.
At the height of this transformation, Pope Adrian VII stood before a global audience in St. Peter’s Square and delivered his most controversial decree.
“The world has long been shackled by outdated beliefs,” he proclaimed. “But no longer. Love is love, and we must embrace the beauty of all human identities. Transgender individuals reflect the divine mystery of creation. Same-sex marriage is a sacred bond. A woman’s right to choose is a right given to her by God. Communism, when embraced with justice, ensures that no child suffers hunger, no man is left destitute. This is the faith of the new era. And I say unto you—welcome it, for to resist is to resist progress itself.”
Thunderous applause filled the square as millions rejoiced. But in the shadows, the faithful wept.
But the most alarming change came with the unveiling of the microchip.
The UN announced the development of a revolutionary microchip, to be implanted in either the hand or forehead. This chip would be required for all financial transactions, travel, and even medical access. Without it, one could neither buy nor sell. The Pope, standing before a global audience, proclaimed it “a miracle of progress, a sign of humanity’s unity.”
Those who resisted were labeled extremists, enemies of peace. Across the world, Christians who refused the chip, the New World Order, or the Pope’s new teachings found themselves arrested—or they simply vanished without a trace.
Among the resistance, the microchip was known by another name: the Mark of the Beast.
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Chapter Four: The Last Free Nation
The world was watching.
The General Assembly Hall of the United Nations was packed, filled with delegates from every nation, world leaders, and high-ranking officials of the New World Order. The great chamber, with its towering golden emblem of the UN, hummed with anticipation. At the center podium stood President Jonathan Slater, the defiant leader of the United States—the last major nation resisting the global regime.
Slater, a tall, grizzled man in his late fifties, had built his presidency on a platform of unwavering patriotism. Unlike his European counterparts who had eagerly submitted to the New Order’s demands, he refused to compromise American sovereignty. And now, he was here to make his stance clear.
Adjusting the microphone, he scanned the room, meeting the cold stares of the world’s elite. Then, he spoke.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you today not as an enemy of peace, but as a defender of freedom. True freedom. Not the illusion of choice wrapped in the chains of compliance, but the sacred right of every man and woman to speak, to think, to believe as they choose.”
Murmurs rippled through the assembly. Some leaders shifted uncomfortably. Others sat rigid, their expressions unreadable.
Slater continued. “You speak of progress, of unity—but at what cost? You demand that we bow to a single world government, that we accept a single world currency, a single ideology dictated by unelected bureaucrats who care nothing for the rights of the individual. You tell us this is for our own good. That resistance is dangerous. That to dissent is to be an enemy of humanity. But I tell you now—tyranny wrapped in noble words is still tyranny.”
The murmurs grew louder. Several delegates exchanged glances.
“America will not submit.” Slater’s voice rang through the chamber. “We will not surrender our sovereignty, our faith, our Constitution. We will not force our people to take your microchips. We will not silence those who refuse to conform to your new morality. We will not criminalize faith, nor will we accept the Pope’s bastardization of the Gospel. The United States of America stands for freedom and democracy—true freedom and democracy—and we will not be ruled by your so-called New World Order.”
The room exploded into chaos. Some delegates shouted in outrage. The UN Secretary-General, an aging European technocrat named Wilhelm Duvall, slammed his gavel, trying to restore order.
President Slater held his ground, unflinching. He knew what he had just done. He had painted a target on his back.
As he stepped away from the podium, his security detail surrounded him. He could feel the eyes of the world’s most powerful men and women searing into him, their minds already working through their next move.
Chapter Five: The Assassination
It happened a month later.
The official story was that President Slater’s convoy had been attacked by "domestic extremists" while traveling through Virginia. The media flooded the airwaves with reports that a "lone gunman" had fired the fatal shot, ending the reign of a man they now called a "dangerous nationalist" and "enemy of progress."
But those who had been close to Slater knew the truth. The New World Order had executed him.
Behind closed doors, world leaders had debated their course of action following Slater’s speech. A full-scale war with the United States would be costly, even with the UN’s overwhelming technological superiority. Assassination, however, was swift, efficient, and left no room for resistance.
With Slater gone, his vice president—Daniel Harrington, a longtime ally of the global elites—was quickly sworn in.
Days after taking office, President Harrington stood at the same UN podium where Slater had defied the world. This time, the atmosphere was different. The hostility had vanished. The delegates leaned forward, eager to hear what the new leader of the United States had to say.
Harrington, a smooth-talking career politician, adjusted his tie and smiled.
“My friends, the dark days are over.”
Scattered applause.
“The last administration clung to outdated notions—dangerous ideas that threatened global unity. But those days have passed. The enemies of progress have been vanquished. Today, I stand before you to declare that the United States is no longer in opposition to the New World Order. No—today, we embrace it.”
Thunderous applause.
Harrington nodded, allowing the cheers to swell before continuing. “America will not merely join this great movement—we will lead it.”
More applause. Delegates stood, clapping enthusiastically.
“The challenges ahead of us are great. There are still those who resist. Those who cling to outdated religions, who reject science, who defy the wisdom of our global leaders. These remnants of the past must be dealt with. And so, I pledge to you now: the United States will stand at the forefront of progress. We will enforce the new laws. We will root out extremism. We will lead humanity into a future free of war, free of ignorance, free of division.”
The ovation was deafening. The transformation was complete.
America, once the last beacon of resistance, had fallen
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The sun hung low over the city, casting long shadows over the streets. Elena Carter clutched her canvas shopping bag as she stepped into MetroMart, the last grocery store in her district that hadn’t yet been fully automated. It was a large, fluorescent-lit supermarket, its aisles neatly stocked with rows of synthetic produce and lab-grown meat. Shoppers moved in quiet efficiency, scanning items at self-checkout stations with the flick of their wrists—their microchips making soft beeping sounds as transactions processed instantly.
Elena gripped the crumpled bills in her pocket and made her way to the counter, her heart pounding.
The cashier, a young woman with vacant eyes and a corporate-issued uniform, barely looked up as Elena placed her groceries on the conveyor belt. Bags of rice, canned beans, a loaf of bread. She reached into her pocket, pulling out the money.
The cashier’s fingers froze over the touchscreen. Her brows furrowed. “Ma’am, where’s your chip?”
Elena’s mouth went dry. “I don’t have one.”
A tense silence followed. A few shoppers nearby stopped scanning their purchases and turned to look.
The cashier blinked. “We don’t accept cash.”
“Since when?”
“Since the law passed last month. Everything is digital now. You need the chip for purchases.”
Elena shifted uncomfortably. “I—I don’t have it. I’d rather not.”
The cashier’s expression hardened. “That’s not an option, ma’am. The chip is required. No exceptions.”
Elena gritted her teeth. “Look, I just need to buy some food. I have the money right here.”
The cashier crossed her arms. “Either scan your chip, or leave.”
Elena hesitated. Her stomach clenched with hunger, but she knew there was no point arguing. She turned and walked out, leaving her groceries behind.
As soon as the doors slid shut behind her, the cashier tapped a silent alarm under the counter.
Outside, the air was thick with smog. Elena pulled her coat tighter around her body and started down the sidewalk, her mind racing. She had heard stories of people disappearing—resistors who refused the chip, the ones who spoke against the New World Order. She had hoped to lay low, but now—
A black police vehicle screeched to a stop beside her.
Three officers stepped out, their faces unreadable behind their mirrored visors. The lead officer, his uniform crisp and imposing, stepped toward her. “Ma’am, state your full name.”
Elena took a step back. “What’s this about?”
“Your chip.” The officer held up a scanner. “We need to verify your identity.”
“I don’t have one,” she said, her voice firm.
The officer’s stance stiffened. “That’s not possible. The law requires all citizens to be chipped.”
“I don’t want anything foreign in my body,” she replied. “And I refuse it on religious grounds.”
The second officer snorted. “Religious grounds? That excuse won’t work. The New Order has declared the chip a moral obligation. Everyone gets it.”
Elena shook her head. “I won’t.”
The lead officer sighed. “Then we’ll have to do this the hard way.”
Before she could react, two of them grabbed her arms, twisting them behind her back. She struggled, her voice rising in panic.
“No! You can’t do this! You have no right!”
The third officer pulled open the back doors of an unmarked black van. “If you won’t get chipped voluntarily, we’ll process you at the station.”
Elena kicked and screamed as they shoved her inside, her cries muffled as the doors slammed shut.
The van pulled away, disappearing into the city’s endless sprawl.
Chapter Six: The Raid
In a quiet apartment complex on the outskirts of the city, David Reynolds sat at his kitchen table, scrolling through his tablet. His wife was washing dishes. His son sat on the couch, playing with their golden retriever, Max.
A loud bang shattered the peaceful evening.
The front door exploded inward as a team of black-clad SWAT officers stormed in, rifles raised.
“Get down!” one of them bellowed.
Max barked and lunged forward. A gunshot rang out. The dog collapsed, yelping once before going still.
David’s wife screamed. His son cried out.
“Hands on your head!” another officer ordered.
David barely had time to react before they tackled him to the ground. He gasped as a knee dug into his back, cold metal snapping around his wrists.
“What is this about?” he gasped. “I didn’t do anything!”
The lead officer stood over him, his helmet visor reflecting David’s panicked face. “You’ve been posting transphobic content online.”
David blinked in shock. “What?”
The officer pulled out a tablet and read from the screen. “Last week, you wrote: ‘There are only two genders.’”
David swallowed hard. “That’s not a crime.”
“It is now.”
His wife sobbed. “Please! We have a child! This is a mistake!”
David clenched his fists. “What happened to freedom of speech? The Constitution?”
The officer’s grip on his rifle tightened. “The Constitution doesn’t protect hate speech.”
Two officers grabbed David under the arms and hauled him to his feet.
“You can’t do this!” he shouted as they dragged him toward the door. “This is America! You can’t just—”
The words were cut off as they shoved him into a waiting vehicle.
Inside the apartment, his wife and son were left huddled on the floor, their world shattered.
The door swung shut.
And the city carried on, oblivious.
Chapter Seven: The Resistance
Deep within the ruins of an abandoned monastery hidden in the Apennine Mountains, the resistance gathered. The ancient stone walls, once home to monks who had spent their lives in prayer, now sheltered the last remnants of the faithful. Torches flickered, casting long shadows over the carved pillars and faded frescoes of Christ and the saints.
A wooden altar, hastily assembled from scavenged planks, stood at the center of the chamber. Upon it rested a chalice, a paten, and a missal—sacred remnants of a faith now outlawed. The rebels knelt on the cold stone floor as Bishop Carlo Rinaldi prepared to offer the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.
The bishop raised his arms, his voice steady. “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”
The gathered faithful responded, their whispered voices echoing off the vaulted ceiling.
Rinaldi’s eyes moved over the assembly—men and women who had lost everything but their faith. Some bore the scars of torture. Others had seen their families executed for refusing the microchip. All of them knew the cost of what they were about to do. The Mass itself was now considered an act of treason.
Father O’Connor stood at Rinaldi’s side, assisting him as the bishop recited the Kyrie. The prayers of the ancient rite filled the chamber, blending with the distant howling wind outside.
As the Mass continued, the Protestant fighter James Holloway stood in the shadows, watching with cautious curiosity. He had never understood Catholicism—the rituals, the incense, the Latin—but here, in this sacred moment, he felt something he could not explain.
When the time came for the Consecration, Rinaldi lifted the host with reverent hands. “Hoc est enim Corpus meum…” His voice was low, but the words carried a weight that pressed upon the hearts of all present.
James watched in silence as the rebels bowed their heads. He had fought alongside them for months, yet never had he seen such devotion. These people were hunted, persecuted, cast out—and yet here they were, worshipping in secret as their ancestors had in the days of Nero.
After the Mass, as the rebels received Holy Communion one by one.
Then Bishop Carlo Rinaldi, a man of unyielding faith, addressed the gathered faithful. “The Church is not the Vatican. The Church is not a man in white robes. The Church is the Body of Christ, and it cannot be destroyed. We are the remnant, and we will not yield.”
Beside him, Father O’Connor clenched his fists. “They call us traitors, but we are the ones who remain faithful. The Pope has abandoned the Gospel, and yet we are the ones condemned.”
A Protestant fighter, James Holloway, studied them with suspicion. “I don’t understand. Your own Pope is leading this madness. Why stay Catholic?”
Rinaldi met his gaze. “Because the Church belongs to Christ, not the men who betray Him. If we abandon her, we let them redefine it.”
Lucia Feretti, a young theologian, added, “Even Catholic saints and Church Fathers warned of this day. St. Robert Bellarmine, St. Francis of Assisi—they spoke of a time when the Church hierarchy could be infiltrated, when the Pope himself could be the Antichrist. The Whore of Babylon is not some distant figure—it is what the Church becomes when it abandons Christ.”
Over time, James and other Protestant fighters found their suspicions fading. Fighting side by side with Catholics who refused to bow to the Pope's false teachings, they began to see something they never expected—a Church they could believe in. Some, including James himself, eventually came home to the Catholic faith, even as they continued to fight against the Pope and his hierarchy.
Chapter Seven-A: The Sedevacantists
News of Bishop Carlo Rinaldi’s secret Masses spread slowly, carried by whispers and coded messages passed between refugees, smugglers, and broken parishes that had refused to bow to the New World Order. One night, as bitter winds howled over the Apennine peaks, scouts brought word to the monastery of a strange group moving through the mountains—armed, disciplined, and openly calling themselves Catholic, yet refusing any mention of “the Pope.”
Rinaldi sent a small delegation to meet them: Father O’Connor, Lucia Feretti, and James Holloway.
They found the strangers camped in the ruins of an old mountain shrine, huddled around small fires. Men in worn cassocks and black suits knelt beside women in mantillas and children clutching rosaries. A makeshift altar—nothing more than a flat stone draped with a white linen cloth—stood in the center of the camp. Latin prayers drifted through the air.
An old priest stepped forward to greet them. His hair was white, his face lined, but his eyes were sharp and alert.
“I am Father Matteo Mancini,” he said. “We are Catholics. Some would call us sedevacantists.”
Lucia exchanged a glance with Rinaldi’s envoy. The word was familiar—an old wound in the post–Vatican II Church. For decades, tiny groups had insisted that the Chair of Peter was empty, that the Popes of the modern era were impostors, that the true papacy had vanished with the old rites and old discipline.
“I thought your kind rejected the Church,” Father O’Connor said carefully.
Father Mancini bristled. “We never rejected the Church. We rejected the impostors,” he replied. “We saw the rot long before the world did. We watched the liturgy gutted, the doctrine softened, the morals eroded. We saw popes praise other religions, apologize for the faith, flirt with heresy. We refused to follow them into the abyss.”
He gestured toward the camp. “For decades, we were mocked as fanatics, schismatics, extremists. We said the See of Peter was effectively usurped after the Council. We said a false line of popes would one day prepare the way for the Antichrist. No one listened.”
James frowned. “You’re saying you knew this was coming? That Adrian VII would rise?”
“We did not know his name,” Father Mancini said. “But we knew the trajectory. We saw it in the documents, in the theology, in the compromises. We warned that if the Church kept drifting, one day a man would sit in Rome and speak not with Christ’s voice, but with the world’s. Now look at him: blessing the New World Order, consecrating the microchip, proclaiming sin to be virtue.” He met their gaze steadily. “Tell me we were wrong.”
Silence settled over the ruined shrine.
Lucia spoke first. “You were right about one thing,” she admitted. “A false shepherd has taken the throne. Rome has become Babylon. But the Church did not cease to exist in the meantime. Grace still flowed through the sacraments. Saints were still raised up. The gates of Hell did not prevail.”
Father Mancini’s expression softened, but only slightly. “We always believed the Church still existed,” he said. “We simply believed the visible head was missing—hidden, or yet to be revealed. For years we prayed in our chapels for ‘the unknown true Pope.’ People laughed. They called us crazy.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Then the rumors began—rumors of a bishop in hiding… some even said… a Pope.”
James looked at Father O’Connor. “You didn’t tell them?”
“We didn’t know who they were,” O’Connor replied quietly. “We are careful with what we reveal.”
Father Mancini took a step closer. “Is it true?” he asked. “Is there a true Pope in hiding?”
O’Connor hesitated, glanced at Lucia, then nodded once. “Yes,” he said. “There is.”
The old priest let out a long, shuddering breath. Tears filled his eyes.
“For fifty years,” he whispered, “we have been called madmen. For fifty years we have said the true Vicar of Christ was not the one on television, not the one applauded by the world. We knew there had to be a hidden shepherd—a Pope who did not bow to the spirit of the age. You’re telling me… he exists.”
“Yes,” Lucia said gently. “He exists. And he suffers with us.”
The camp fell utterly silent. Some of the older faithful crossed themselves, weeping openly. Younger men, raised in resistance chapels and underground Tridentine Masses, stared in stunned disbelief. Their whole identity had been built on the conviction that there was no Pope—only an empty, violated throne. Now they were being told that the Pope lived, not as a distant figure in a palace, but as a hunted father among his scattered children.
Father Mancini sank to his knees before them.
“Then we were right,” he said through tears, “but only half right. The line in Rome was false—but the Papacy itself was never abolished. The See was not destroyed; it was driven into exile.” He bowed his head. “Take us to him. We have criticized, doubted, and at times acted rashly—but we never ceased to love the Papacy. If there is a true Pope, we will kneel at his feet. We will submit. We only ask one thing in return—that he confirm us in the faith we have tried, however imperfectly, to preserve.”
That night, under the cover of darkness, a small group of sedevacantist leaders followed O’Connor and Lucia through mountain trails to the monastery.
In the flickering torchlight of the hidden chapel, they saw him: an elderly man in a plain white cassock, no jeweled tiara, no balcony, no cheering crowds—only a worn pectoral cross and the weight of the world in his eyes.
The true Pope.
“Sanctitas,” Father O’Connor said quietly, kneeling. “These are the ones who long ago declared the See vacant. They believed every Pope since the Council was false. They have suffered in their own way for that conviction. Now they have come.”
The old man stepped toward them, his presence at once gentle and firm.
Father Mancini threw himself to the floor, weeping. “Most Holy Father,” he cried, “forgive us. We doubted, we judged, we separated ourselves to protect what we believed was the faith. We said there was no Pope. Now we see: you were in hiding, and we did not know you. We were right that the usurpers were false—yet we wounded the unity of the Church. Forgive us.”
The Pope knelt and lifted him up.
“You saw the danger before many others,” he said softly. “You recognized the smoke of Satan long before the fire filled the sanctuary. You were not wrong to be alarmed. But fear led some of you into pride and isolation. Now the time of judging is over. The hour of reunion has come.”
He looked over the assembled traditionalists—men and women who had clung to old missals and old catechisms like lifelines in a storm.
“You were mocked, ridiculed, condemned,” he said. “Now the mask has fallen. The world praises the false shepherd who crowns sin as virtue. You see that you were not mad. You saw the cliff before the rest of us. But remember this: the Church is larger than any council, any rite, any particular era. The gates of Hell have not prevailed. They will never prevail.”
Tears streamed down the faces of the faithful.
“In these final days,” the Pope continued, “there will be no more factions—no more labels: ‘sedevacantist,’ ‘traditionalist,’ ‘conservative,’ ‘charismatic.’ There will only be those who stand with Christ and His Church, and those who side with the Beast. You believed the chair was empty. Now you see that it was hidden. Stand with Peter now. Fight with us. Die with us, if necessary. But do it as Catholics—united, at last.”
Father Mancini bowed his head.
“Then we, who once cried ‘no Pope,’ confess that there has always been a Pope—only a crucified one, driven into exile. We are done saying the See is vacant. We will say instead: the See was veiled… and now, in God’s time, unveiled.”
“In that sense,” Lucia whispered later to James, “they were proven right—and wrong—at the same time. Right that a false line would lead the world into apostasy. Wrong to think Christ had abandoned His own office.”
James nodded slowly.
“And now?” he asked.
“Now,” she said, looking toward the hidden Pope as he raised his hands in blessing over the reconciled flock, “now the last war begins—with all the faithful finally on the same side.”
Chapter Seven-B: The Message of the Hidden Pope (Revised Version)
With full video broadcast & credibility concerns addressed
Night clung to the mountains like a living thing as tension filled the ancient monastery. Hours had passed since the latest drone sweep, and the resistance leadership had gathered in the chapel, their faces lit by candlelight and the glow of a battered laptop powered by a salvaged generator.
Pope Benedict XIV stood at the center, leaning slightly on a wooden cane, his white cassock worn from months of hiding. The room smelled of wax, old stone, and rain-soaked wool.
“We must reach the world,” he said quietly. “And not with whispers. With clarity. With truth.”
Bishop Rinaldi took a slow breath. “Holy Father, an audio message alone will be dismissed as a hoax. The imposter in Rome will claim it is deepfake propaganda. His communication bureau will smear it faster than we can distribute it.”
Lucia nodded. “The world is conditioned to distrust anything unofficial. And the New World Order controls every major media platform.”
James Holloway stepped forward, arms crossed, brow furrowed. “Most people won’t buy it anyway. Look—if I saw some blurry video claiming the Pope down in a bunker was the real one? I’d think it was edited. Practically everyone will.”
“Not everyone,” Lucia corrected quietly. “A few will listen. A few thousand, maybe. Maybe only a few hundred.”
“And that’s enough,” Rinaldi said. “Revolutions never start with majorities.”
The Pope’s gaze softened. “Christ did not require crowds,” he said. “Only fishermen.”
The Debate: Audio or Video?
Father O’Connor placed a salvaged camera on the table—the kind used for small film productions years before the digital crackdown.
“We can record a clear video,” he said. “Analog-quality. No digital watermarking. No compression signatures. Nothing the Vatican Media Office can easily attack as AI-generated.”
James raised an eyebrow. “And you think people will buy that?”
Lucia answered firmly, “If anyone can disprove the imposter, it’s the man who sounds and speaks like the real Pope. His cadence. His tone. His theology. His mannerisms. AI can mimic a voice—but not a soul.”
The Pope touched her shoulder gently. “My child, I do not wish to weaponize my personality.”
“You don’t need to,” she replied. “Just be yourself.”
Bishop Rinaldi nodded. “We broadcast video, not audio. Let the world see your face. Let them see the one thing the imposter cannot truly imitate: your humility.”
James huffed. “We’ll win a tiny sliver of believers. That’s it.”
The Pope smiled faintly. “Then a tiny sliver shall suffice.”
The Plan Is Formed
They gathered around a map of the mountain region. Lucia pointed to a collapsed hydroelectric station a few kilometers west.
“There’s a sub-level analog relay panel still functional. I tested it myself weeks before the drones intensified. If we wire the camera through the relay, the broadcast will piggyback onto abandoned analog frequencies—shortwave, VHF, even a few unsecured satellite bands.”
James added, “Modern censorship algorithms won’t detect it instantly. It’ll slip through cracks. Enough to hit the resistance networks.”
“Enough to be copied,” Lucia said. “Mirrored. Shared. Even if most people delete it, once it’s out… it’s out.”
The Pope nodded firmly. “Then we go.”
The Journey
Hours later, the jeep rumbled down a narrow mountain road, fog curling around the cliffs. The Pope sat in the back seat, flanked by Rinaldi and Lucia, while James drove and Father O’Connor monitored radio frequencies.
“Keep the camera case steady,” Lucia warned the Pope gently. “Any damage and the recording quality could degrade enough for them to claim it’s doctored.”
“I understand,” the Pope said, holding the padded case like it was a relic.
Drone signals crackled through O’Connor’s scanner.
James cursed softly under his breath. “Delta Strike Team nearby.”
“Let them search,” the Pope said calmly. “We travel under the mantle of Providence.”
“Providence is great,” James muttered, “but a little luck wouldn’t hurt.”
The Hydroelectric Station
The ruin loomed out of the fog like a dead titan. Inside, shattered machinery lay half-submerged in black pools of water. The deeper they walked, the colder the air became.
At last, they reached the broadcast chamber—an old concrete room with walls stained by decades of moisture.
Lucia set the camera on a metal crate. Father O’Connor positioned the lamps to avoid hard shadows. James rigged the relay cables, sparks jumping as he connected the final line.
“We’re ready,” Lucia whispered.
The Pope stepped into frame, standing before a cracked concrete pillar that once held warning signs about voltage. Now it looked like a catacomb.
James pressed RECORD.
The Message — On Video
The Pope lifted his chin, his eyes reflecting the lamplight.
“My dear children in Christ… this is not a deepfake. This is not an illusion. I stand before you as the man you knew as Benedict the Fourteenth, elected in secret, forced into hiding by a cabal that has seized the Holy See.”
He stepped closer, so every line of his face was visible.
“Look at me. Look at the marks of age, the scars, the weakness, the sincerity. No machine can mimic a soul.”
Lucia swallowed hard.
“The man who sits in the Vatican,” the Pope said steadily, “is not your shepherd. He is an imposter enthroned by those who reject the Gospel. He preaches a new doctrine—one that contradicts Scripture, Tradition, and the faith handed down by the saints.”
He placed a hand on his heart.
“I risk my life to speak this truth. We are hunted. We are threatened. But I beg you: listen not to the voice that flatters the world, but to the voice of Christ, who never changes.”
He made the sign of the cross, slowly and reverently.
“Wherever this message reaches—even if to only a small few—know that the Church still stands. And I still stand with you.”
The video cut out as the lights flickered violently.
James hit STOP.
“Transmission now,” he ordered.
The Broadcast & Attack
The relay hummed. Screens flickered. Antenna wires crackled as the signal jumped through analog channels.
On resistance radios:
“The Holy Father—he’s alive!”
In underground chatrooms:
“This doesn’t look fake… it looks real…”
In scattered parishes:
“That is his face. That is his voice. That is him.”
Some doubted.
Some dismissed it.
But some—enough—believed.
Lucia’s scanner suddenly shrieked.
“They traced it! They’re coming from the upper ridge!”
Gunfire cracked above them. Floodlights swept across the broken walls.
“Move!” James shouted.
They fled through the drainage shaft as soldiers stormed the station. Bullets ricocheted. Explosions shook the concrete.
But the Pope made it out alive. So did most of his protectors.
And far away, in homes, basements, tunnels, and refugee camps—
A video spread, grainy yet unmistakable:
The real Pope, standing in a ruined station, speaking truth with fire in his eyes.
Some scoffed.
Some doubted.
Some feared.
But some believed.
And that was enough.
Chapter Seven-C: The Fallout
Dawn broke over the Apennines like a dying ember—dim, red, and shrouded in smoke from distant fires. In the forest clearing where the resistance had regrouped, fatigue clung to every face. The Pope sat wrapped in a wool blanket, shivering from the river’s icy water, while James tended to a cut on Father O’Connor’s arm.
Lucia crouched beside a salvaged radio receiver, tuning its dials with trembling fingers.
Static.
More static.
Then—
A voice.
A voice from outside the mountains.
“This is BBC Emergency Broadcast—rumors are spreading of a video claiming the ‘real Pope’ is alive. Officials are calling it disinformation.”
James and Rinaldi rushed to her side.
“Turn it up,” James whispered.
“Authorities warn citizens not to share the clip, as it may be the work of extremist groups.”
Then the radio crackled again—this time to a different channel entirely.
“—but it looks real, Marta. He looks older, tired, but it’s him. I remember his face. I saw him during Mass in Rome before the New Orders took control—”
“That’s enough, José. We’re not allowed to—”
click
Lucia exhaled sharply. “It’s out there. People are seeing it.”
James wasn’t convinced.
“They’ll bury it. They’ll mock it. They’ll say it’s AI. Most will never even hear about it.”
“Most don’t need to,” Father O’Connor said, grimacing as he tied a bandage tighter. “Only the right ones.”
A World Divided by a Single Video
Vatican City – The Throne Room
The false Pope, Adrian VII, sat rigidly in an ornate chair, his knuckles white against the gilded armrests. Screens around him replayed the forbidden broadcast in a loop—each time with more grainy interference as Vatican media censors tried to distort it.
A cardinal approached cautiously.
“Your Holiness, should we… release a statement?”
The imposter’s lips curled. “A statement?!” He slammed his fist against the armrest. “This… this relic cannot be allowed to undermine the new faith.”
A Vatican technician rushed forward. “We’ve issued takedown commands on every major platform—”
“And the mirrors?” Adrian demanded.
“They’re multiplying.”
Adrian VII leaned forward slowly, his voice icy.
“Then release our counter-video. The ‘deepfake’ demonstration. And label the real one as a terrorist hoax. I want it discredited before nightfall.”
Cardinals murmured, uneasy.
Adrian glared at them.
“We cannot afford doubt. Not now.”
New York City – United Nations Headquarters
On the 59th floor of the glass tower, Secretary-General Wilhelm Duvall watched the Pope’s message play on a split-screen next to worldwide reaction feeds.
“Resistors emboldened in Spain…”
“Underground Masses multiplying in South America…”
“Videos circulating in Africa despite internet restrictions…”
His aide, Sasha Karim, entered quickly.
“Sir, the NWO Council wants an emergency meeting. The video is destabilizing multiple regions.”
Duvall massaged his temples. “How many believe it?”
“Five percent, perhaps ten. Not many.”
“That’s too many.”
He frowned deeply.
“People don’t need a majority to revolt. They need a symbol.”
Mexico City – A Hidden Apartment
Diego Morales, a young seminarian forced into hiding when priests were outlawed, watched the Pope’s video on his cracked tablet. Tears streamed down his face.
“That’s him,” he whispered. “I knew he wasn’t dead. I knew it.”
His grandmother crossed herself, trembling. “Mi niño… if he is alive… then the man in Rome…”
“Is a liar,” Diego finished. “And God has not abandoned us.”
Outside, soldiers patrolled the street. But for the first time in years, hope flickered like a flame inside Diego’s chest.
Berlin – A Government Office
Anna Becker, a mid-level bureaucrat working for the European Peace Compliance Bureau, stared at her monitor as the video played.
Her supervisor, Meyer, appeared behind her. “Turn that off.”
Anna didn’t move.
“Anna. Turn it off.”
She swallowed. “Sir… what if it’s real? He doesn’t look or sound fake.”
Meyer’s jaw tightened. “Disobedience is reportable now. You know this.”
Anna nodded slowly—but left the tab open when he walked away.
Seoul РA Black-Market Caf̩
In a basement café where resistance hackers operated disguised as baristas, the video played on every device.
A young hacker named Min-ji smirked. “They’ll never scrub this. Too late.”
Her companion adjusted his glasses. “You really think people will believe?”
Min-ji shrugged. “Believe or not… doesn’t matter. The Vatican, the UN, the NWO—they’re scared. That means we just won.”
Back in the Mountains
Lucia relayed her findings to the Pope.
“It’s spreading faster than expected. Not universally—but enough. The world is split between those who think it’s fake… and those who think everything else is.”
The Pope nodded. “Faith has never required nations. Only hearts.”
Rinaldi approached, tension etched across his face. “Holy Father, reports say that the Vatican issued a counter-message claiming your video was fabricated, made through AI.”
The Pope sighed. “Of course they did.”
James kicked a fallen branch angrily. “And people will believe them before they believe you! They have armies! They have influence! They have—”
The Pope lifted a hand gently.
“James. Peace.”
James exhaled, chest rising and falling.
Father O’Connor stepped forward. “Your Holiness… some governments are threatening lethal force for distributing your message. The world is reacting exactly as the imposter fears.”
“Then my message struck its target,” the Pope said softly.
Lucia knelt beside him. “What now?”
He looked into the trees where sunlight pierced the branches in thin, golden lines.
“Now,” he said, “we pray. And we wait.”
James stepped closer. “Wait for what, Your Holiness?”
The Pope closed his eyes.
“For the storm they will send.”
The World Tightens Its Fist
Before sunset, the New World Order issued a global alert:
“Sharing or possessing the unauthorized video of the alleged ‘Pope’ constitutes a violation of the International Harmony Act and will be prosecuted as extremist activity.”
In some nations, power grids flickered as cyber-police tried to block the spread.
In others, soldiers carried out door-to-door sweeps searching for the video.
Still—
in churches turned underground,
in basements,
in refugee camps,
on smuggled SD cards,
on analog radios and hidden USB drives—
The message survived.
A Message That Refuses to Die
That night, as stars emerged over the mountains, Lucia sat beside the Pope outside their temporary shelter. He was silent, staring at the sky.
“You saved many today,” she said softly.
He shook his head.
“No, my child. I did not save them. But perhaps… perhaps I reminded them that truth still speaks.”
“And those who didn’t believe you?” she asked.
“They will remember my face,” he whispered. “And when the hour comes… that memory will be a seed.”
Lucia lowered her head. “They will come for us harder now.”
“I know,” he said gently.
And though he smiled, there was sorrow in his eyes.
“Truth always summons its enemies.”
Chapter Seven-D: The Crackdown
Across the world, dawn brought not hope but the unmistakable weight of tyranny. Within hours of the Pope’s hidden message spreading across resistance networks, the New World Order, the Vatican, and the United Nations launched the largest coordinated crackdown in human history.
1. Vatican City — “Operation Purification”
The imposter Pope Adrian VII stood before a council of cardinals—some terrified, some complicit, some too ambitious to care. Screens behind him displayed maps of Europe dotted in red.
“These,” Adrian said, gesturing coldly, “are the regions where the heretical message has circulated most widely. Spain, Poland, Portugal, Ireland… they must be dealt with swiftly. The longer doubt remains, the harder it will be to restore order.”
One cardinal cleared his throat nervously. “Your Holiness… the man on the video—he resembles—”
Adrian slammed his fist onto the table.
“He resembles what the traitors WANT him to resemble! A manufactured image! An AI trick! Do not insult me with cowardly observations.”
The cardinal fell silent.
Adrian signaled to his Prefect of the Dicastery for World Unity — formerly the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, now repurposed as an ideological police force.
“Proceed with Operation Purification. Seize any priest, bishop, or lay leader who shares the video. Detain them for ‘re-education.’ Burn their servers. Confiscate their devices. And if resistance is met…”
His voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
“Crush it.”
2. United Nations — Global Mobilization
In New York, the UN Security Council chamber was filled beyond capacity. Delegates shouted over one another as maps flickered with red zones.
Secretary-General Duvall stood at the center podium, his voice amplified through the room’s dome-shaped ceiling.
“We underestimated the danger of this broadcast. It is destabilizing entire regions. Multiple armed factions have risen in open defiance—many under the delusion that the so-called ‘real Pope’ is alive.”
A representative from Brazil raised her hand. “With respect, Secretary-General, the crackdown will create martyrs. People are already dying over this—”
Duvall’s expression hardened. “Then let them die. Order must be maintained.”
Gasps filled the chamber.
General Harada of the UN Peaceforce stepped forward, face like carved stone.
“We have mobilized twenty-five thousand troops for pacification operations. Drones are being deployed. Surveillance checkpoints are active in all major cities. Anyone caught spreading the video will be detained immediately.”
Another delegate rose, trembling. “And if nations resist?”
Duvall answered without hesitation.
“They will be dealt with the same way.”
3. Europe — Cities Under Siege
Paris
Armored vehicles rolled through the streets as police in black body armor stormed apartments in the early dawn. Doors smashed. Crying children clung to their mothers as officers demanded biometric scans.
Any device with the Pope’s video—phone, laptop, USB drive—was confiscated.
A young priest named Father Martin fled across the rooftops, clutching the Eucharist in a pyx. A drone’s spotlight caught him like a divine accusation.
“HALT. YOU ARE VIOLATING UNITY ORDER SIX-TWO-FOUR.”
He ran faster.
Shots rang out.
He fell.
As he lay dying, he whispered, “Sancte Petre… ora pro nobis…”
Warsaw
Resistance fighters used encrypted walkie-talkies to coordinate evacuations of families who had watched the video. Polish soldiers refused to fire on them—leading to a standoff between military factions loyal to the New World Order and those secretly loyal to the Church.
The first shots of open rebellion echoed across the Vistula River.
Lisbon
Priests were rounded up outside a cathedral after refusing to sign loyalty pledges to Pope Adrian VII. Crowds gathered, shouting, praying—until riot police fired tear gas into the square.
4. The Americas — Fear and Fire
Mexico City
Diego Morales hid in a narrow alley as police drones scanned the street. He clutched his grandmother’s hand, listening to sirens grow nearer.
“This is because we believed,” she whispered.
“No,” Diego said fiercely. “It’s because they fear the truth.”
Toronto
A teacher was arrested in front of her class for refusing to play the Vatican’s “deepfake debunk” video. Students watched, horrified, as she was dragged away.
Argentina
A bishop who had gone into hiding years earlier resurfaced after seeing the Pope’s video. His secret Mass drew hundreds. By morning, he had disappeared again.
5. Asia — Cracks in the Machine
Seoul
Min-ji and her hacker collective used scramblers to mirror the Pope’s broadcast faster than NWO censors could delete it.
“Seven million downloads,” she reported breathlessly.
Her companion stared in disbelief. “Seven million people believe?”
“No,” she replied. “Seven million people are thinking. That’s what scares them.”
China
The Great Firewall surged into overdrive. Entire city blocks lost internet for hours. Thousands were detained for owning an “unregistered religious file.”
But on the outskirts of Chengdu, in a hidden underground church carved into an old tunnel, dozens gathered around a smuggled SD card and watched the Pope’s trembling face speak truth.
Children cried. Mothers prayed. Men clenched their fists.
“He is alive,” one whispered.
“And so are we.”
6. Africa — The Flame Spreads
In Nigeria, Uganda, and Kenya, underground priests projected the Pope’s video on bedsheets hung between trees. Soldiers raided these gatherings, but crowds grew larger each night.
In Ethiopia, a rebel Catholic militia began rising in the highlands, determined to restore the true Church.
7. Back in the Mountains: The Hunt Intensifies
Inside the forest encampment, the Pope and his small group listened to reports streaming through Lucia’s radio.
“They’re moving faster than we anticipated,” Rinaldi said grimly. “They’ve put a global bounty on your head—fifty million credits.”
James spat on the ground. “And that’ll bring every mercenary from here to Mars.”
“Drones have intensified their sweep pattern,” Lucia added. “Thermals, night vision, sound triangulation—they’ve covered half the mountains already.”
Father O’Connor limped into the clearing. “We need to move again before sundown.”
The Pope bowed his head.
“This… this is the cost of truth.”
Lucia knelt beside him, voice quiet but fierce. “Your message reached people, Holy Father. Not everyone—but enough. Enough to shake the foundations of the world.”
The Pope looked toward the horizon, where smoke rose from distant towns.
“They fear the truth because they know it can still burn.”
His eyes grew somber.
“And now the world burns in response.”
8. The Calm Before the Final Storm
As night fell, the resistance hid deeper into the mountain forest. Soldiers patrolled the valleys. Helicopters swept overhead. Searchlights pierced the treetops. The mountain was no longer a refuge—only a temporary hiding place between waves of danger.
James loaded his rifle. “They’re pushing harder than ever. This isn’t a crackdown—it’s a purge.”
Lucia whispered, “They know the war is coming.”
Father O’Connor murmured a prayer.
And Pope Benedict XIV, weary but resolute, looked into the darkness.
“No,” he said softly.
“The war has already begun.”
Chapter Eight: Armageddon Ignites
The world burned.
Cities smoldered.
Governments fractured.
Armies no longer served nations—they served causes.
Some served the New World Order.
Others served the idea of freedom.
And a few—only a few—served the truth spoken by a hunted Pope.
The global crackdown had not crushed rebellion.
It had detonated it.
1. The War That Couldn’t Be Contained
From the mountains of Spain to the slums of Lagos, from the ruins of Caracas to the deserts of Iraq, the Pope’s video had become a kind of spark—a small flame the New World Order tried to stomp out with iron boots, only to ignite the ground beneath them.
In Eastern Europe, Catholic militias defected from state armies and declared they would take their orders from “the legitimate Pope in exile.”
In South America, protesters overwhelmed government buildings while soldiers—some secretly baptized hours before—refused to fire.
Across Africa, whole battalions abandoned the UN Peaceforce and pledged allegiance to Christ, not the imposter on the throne of St. Peter.
In China, underground Christians rose in numbers never seen before. In the Middle East, even some Muslims protected families who were hiding priests.
The world was splitting along a line older than nations—
truth versus power.
And all fault lines pointed to one place.
Megiddo.
2. The UN War Machine Moves
In New York, Secretary-General Duvall stood over a digital war table projected onto the glass floor of the United Nations Command Center.
Red indicators swarmed across the map.
Uprisings. Desertions. Supply-line collapses. Attacks on NWO strongholds. Rogue militias.
“This is out of control,” Sasha Karim warned. “Our forces are stretched thin. Europe is on fire. Africa is unstable. Asia is unpredictable. We can’t put out all these rebellions.”
Duvall’s jaw tightened. “Then we don’t put them out.”
He tapped Megiddo on the map.
“We end them all.”
A general stepped forward. “By force, sir?”
“No,” Duvall said coldly. “By demonstrating complete domination. We destroy the largest concentration of rebels, publicly, decisively. We make an example so terrifying the rest of the world falls silent.”
He turned.
“Summon all available forces. Ground, air, mechanized—everything. Megiddo is where humanity learns obedience.”
The room fell silent.
The order was given.
3. Resistance Converges on Megiddo
Word reached the mountains where Pope Benedict XIV and his companions were hiding.
James Holloway burst into the camp, breath ragged. “Holy Father—they’ve discovered the main detention centers. Thousands of prisoners. They’re being moved to a fortress beneath Megiddo.”
Father O’Connor gripped his rosary. “Megiddo… Armageddon.”
Bishop Rinaldi looked to the Pope. “If we do nothing, they will kill them all.”
The Pope stood quietly, processing the news. His eyes were tired but clear.
“How many rebels are gathering?” he asked.
“Tens of thousands,” James replied. “Catholics, Protestants, Orthodox, Jews, even secular fighters who just want freedom. They’re uniting for the first time.”
Lucia added, “But the UN is sending everything they have. Drones, tanks, plasma cannons, orbital satellites. They want to wipe the resistance out before it spreads.”
The Pope closed his eyes.
“This is not our war,” he whispered.
“But they are our people,” Rinaldi insisted.
Benedict nodded.
“Yes. And a shepherd does not abandon his flock.”
4. The March Through the Desert
The resistance journeyed to Megiddo by night, moving through ravines, ruined villages, and ancient paths once walked by prophets and kings. Thousands converged on the plains beneath the hill—a ragged army of believers and exiles.
Some carried rifles.
Some carried crosses.
Some carried nothing but hope.
Lucia walked beside the Pope. “Do you believe this is the end?”
The Pope smiled faintly. “The end? No, my child. Merely the final chapter of a very long book.”
James joined them. “UN forces are two hours out. Maybe less.”
Rinaldi murmured, “Then let us make confession available.”
Father O’Connor nodded. “A battlefield chapel, then.”
And so, amid the dust and tension, priests—some old, some barely ordained—heard confessions under blankets, behind rocks, and beside armored trucks.
It was the strangest army the world had ever seen.
And the most faithful.
5. The Battle Begins
When the first UN drones appeared on the horizon, the air turned electric. Tanks rolled forward like iron beasts. Helicopters cut black lines through the sky. The New World Order had come in full force.
The rebels formed defensive lines.
From the ridge, James shouted, “Positions! Get ready!”
A blast split the ground as plasma artillery fired from miles away.
The desert erupted in flame.
Resistance troops scattered, regrouped, fought back with whatever they had. Anti-air missiles streaked upward. Machine guns thundered. Explosions tore through the sand.
And deep beneath the battlefield, the prisoners in underground cells heard the chaos and prayed someone would reach them in time.
The UN advanced relentlessly.
The rebels fought ferociously.
The Pope knelt on the ridge, praying with outstretched hands as bullets whistled through the air around him.
“Father,” Lucia begged, “you must move!”
“I will not leave,” he said. “Not while my children suffer.”
6. The False Pope Watches
In Vatican City, Adrian VII watched the battle unfold through encrypted satellite feeds.
“Burn them,” he whispered. “All of them.”
A cardinal beside him hesitated. “Your Holiness, there are civilians—”
Adrian’s eyes burned with hatred.
“There are only believers in my way.”
7. Heaven Interrupts
The sun began to dim.
Not like an eclipse—
but as if light itself were being pulled back.
The wind died.
The artillery fell silent.
Even the drones froze in midair.
James looked up. “What… what’s happening?”
A trumpet sounded—
deep, ancient, shaking the very bones of the earth.
Lucia collapsed to her knees, sobbing.
Rinaldi whispered, “It cannot be…”
The sky split open.
Not like lightning.
Not like clouds parting.
Like a curtain being torn from one edge of creation to the other.
A blinding light flooded the battlefield. Shadows evaporated. The dead began to rise from the scorched desert. Weapons fell from human hands.
Every soldier—UN or rebel—stopped and stared upward.
Every nation watching through satellite feeds gasped.
Every heart trembled.
Some cried.
Some laughed.
Some screamed.
Even the imposter Pope fell to his knees, shaking uncontrollably.
Because in the torn sky, descending like fire wrapped in holiness—
stood the Son of Man.
8. Judgment Falls
The moment the world had mocked, feared, and denied had arrived.
It was not subtle.
It was not symbolic.
It was not metaphor.
It was real.
It was visible.
And it was final.
The battle of Megiddo halted in absolute silence as Christ descended.
James breathed, “We’re not fighting anymore.”
Lucia whispered, “No. We’re witnessing.”
The Pope closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face. “It is finished.”
And in that moment—
History ended.
Eternity began.
The world had chosen its sides.
And now, the Judge stood before creation.
Chapter Nine: The Judgment
The world did not end with an explosion.
It ended with silence.
A silence so total, so absolute, that every heartbeat thundered like a drum in the chest of every living creature. The wind died. The sand ceased shifting. Explosions froze mid-plume, suspended as if time itself was holding its breath.
And then—
light.
A radiance brighter than the birth of stars poured down from the torn heavens. It was not sunlight, nor fire, nor anything the world had ever known. It was a light made of truth—a light that pierced through flesh and stone and metal and soul. Nothing could hide from it.
James Holloway collapsed to his knees, hands trembling uncontrollably.
Lucia covered her face, sobbing.
Bishop Rinaldi whispered prayers he had not uttered since childhood.
Even the desert itself seemed to bow beneath the weight of glory.
Above them, in the column of divine fire, descended the Son of Man.
His presence filled the sky—vast yet intimate, overwhelming yet gentle. His feet touched the air as though the atmosphere itself had become a throne. Behind Him, the sky rippled with the forms of countless angels — majestic, colossal, shimmering with weapons of light.
The world had known fear.
Now it knew awe.
1. Every Eye Saw Him
From Vatican City to Tokyo, from shattered New York to the jungles of Brazil, every human being saw Him. Not through screens, not through broadcasts—but directly, as though space and distance had dissolved.
Some fell to their knees.
Some screamed.
Some fainted.
Some tried to run, but found nowhere to go.
For in that moment, the words of Scripture became reality:
“Every eye shall see Him—even those who pierced Him.”
The imposter Pope Adrian VII had been watching the battle from his private throne room. When the sky split and Christ appeared, he rose from his seat so quickly it toppled backward.
“No… no… NO…” he gasped, stumbling, clutching the altar for support. “This is impossible! This is not the time! I— I was promised—”
But no promise from Hell could protect him now.
2. The True Pope Stands
On the ridge above Megiddo, the real Pope—Benedict XIV—rose slowly to his feet, trembling. Tears ran down his weathered face.
“My Lord… my God…” he whispered.
Christ descended until He hovered just above the battlefield—above the tanks, the drones, the rebels, the soldiers, the martyrs buried beneath the desert. His gaze swept across humanity, His eyes blazing with perfect justice and perfect mercy.
The Pope staggered forward, aided by Rinaldi. James and Lucia followed, unable to look away.
Christ’s voice was not sound.
It was presence.
It was truth filling the marrow of every living thing.
“BEHOLD—THE DAY HAS COME.”
The words washed over the earth like rolling thunder.
3. The Books Are Opened
At His right hand, an angel stepped forward—tall as a mountain, bearing a great scroll bound in light. When it opened, a wind unlike any wind that had ever blown swept across creation.
Every human soul felt it—past, present, and those who had died long ago. The deeds of every life, the secrets of every heart, rose like a tide.
Christ spoke again.
“ALL SHALL BE REVEALED.”
And then the separating began.
It was not dramatic.
It was not violent.
It was simply inevitable—like gravity.
Those who had lived for truth found themselves drawn toward the right hand of the Lord, like iron to a magnet of divine love. Those who had embraced falsehood, who had loved power, cruelty, or darkness, found themselves drifting toward His left, unable to stand in the light.
James felt his heart laid bare. Every sin he had ever committed flashed before him—not in accusation, but in clarity. Yet he felt no terror. Only sorrow. And hope.
Lucia trembled, feeling every moment of faith, weakness, bravery, doubt. The light weighed her, sifted her, purified her.
The Pope bowed his head.
“For this we were born,” he murmured.
4. The Fate of the False Pope
Far across the world, Adrian VII clawed at the marble floor of his throne room as the light pierced every inch of his soul.
“No!” he screamed. “I served the new age! I served peace! I did what was necessary!”
But lies dissolved in the presence of Truth.
He felt the full weight of every deception, every betrayal, every twisted doctrine, every life ruined under his counterfeit Church. The angels standing behind Christ turned their gaze toward him, and their wings unfurled like storm clouds.
Adrian collapsed, sobbing.
“Have mercy!” he shrieked. “Mercy! Mercy!”
Christ did not look at him with hatred.
Nor with rage.
But with sorrow older than time.
“MERCY WAS OFFERED TO YOU. YOU CHOSE YOUR KING.”
And at those words, Adrian screamed as shadows rose around him and carried him away.
5. The Nations Are Judged
On the plains of Megiddo, UN soldiers dropped their weapons and fell face-first into the dust. Rebels who had moments before been ready to kill now cried, wept, or stared in reverent shock.
Christ turned His gaze to the armies of the New World Order.
Their satellites fell from orbit like dying stars.
Their drones fell silent.
Their tanks froze.
Their weapons rusted before their eyes.
“NO KINGDOM BUILT ON LIES SHALL STAND BEFORE ME.”
The ground shook.
Winds roared.
The banners of the New World Order were ripped apart by invisible hands.
6. The Righteous Are Called
Then the light softened—like a sunrise after endless night.
Christ extended His hand toward those on His right—the faithful, the repentant, the humble, the persecuted.
“COME—
YOU WHO ARE BLESSED BY MY FATHER.”
The words reverberated through every soul that had clung to truth through darkness. A warmth poured over them—healing wounds, relieving fear, restoring hope.
Many collapsed in tears.
Some laughed in disbelief.
Some raised their arms, unable to contain their joy.
James felt a weight lift from his chest—a lifetime of scars dissolving like smoke.
Lucia wept into her hands. “We made it,” she whispered. “We… we made it.”
The Pope bowed to Christ.
“Not to us, Lord,” he whispered, “but to Your glory.”
Christ smiled upon him, and the light around Benedict XIV glowed—even as his frail body braced against the brilliance.
7. Creation Is Renewed
Then came the final moment.
Christ lifted His arms. And the entire world responded.
Mountains trembled.
Oceans calmed.
Skies brightened.
The scars of centuries began to heal.
Death itself recoiled.
Across the battlefields, the dead began to rise—not as ghosts, not as shadows, but as whole, living, restored beings. Flesh returned to bone. Eyes opened. Families were reunited in cries of joy.
The martyrs came first—those who had died for truth.
Then the innocent.
Then the faithful.
Then all whose hearts had belonged to God.
A new world dawned as the old one fell away.
8. The Final Words
Christ’s voice rang out one last time—clearer than light, stronger than life.
“BEHOLD—
I MAKE ALL THINGS NEW.”
And the world bowed.
The false kingdoms crumbled.
The lies dissolved.
The last enemies—sin and death—were shattered.
The Judgment was complete.
A new creation unfolded.
And for the faithful,
for the righteous,
for the broken made whole,
for the humble made glorious—
eternity had begun.
Epilogue: The New Heaven and the New Earth
Silence—true silence—fell upon creation.
Not the fearful silence before catastrophe, nor the hollow quiet of a world exhausted by war. This was a silence woven with peace, a stillness that hummed like a heartbeat beneath the surface of all things.
The old world had passed away.
And something new—something unimaginable—had taken its place.
1. The Dawn of Eternity
James Holloway opened his eyes.
He did not remember closing them. He remembered the light—the unendurable, beautiful light—and the sound of Christ’s voice echoing through his very soul. He remembered falling to his knees, unable to breathe, unable to speak.
Now—
He stood beneath a sky more vivid than any sky he had ever seen. Colors shimmered like living gems. The air tasted like purity. The breeze carried music—real music—not made by instruments, but by reality itself.
He looked down at his hands.
They were whole.
Stronger than before.
No scars. No tremors.
He laughed—a sound of pure relief—and the laughter echoed like bells across green fields that stretched farther than sight.
“James,” a soft voice called.
He turned. Lucia stood nearby, radiant in a light that haloed her hair. She, too, was restored—no bruises, no exhaustion, no fear. She touched her face in disbelief.
“We’re here,” she whispered. “It’s real.”
James could not speak.
He simply nodded, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.
2. All Things Made New
The world around them was familiar yet transformed.
Mountains rose like cathedrals sculpted by angels. Rivers ran clear as crystal, their waters singing. Trees grew tall and lush, bearing fruit that glowed faintly like jewels. The very soil beneath their feet felt alive.
Animals wandered the fields—lions beside lambs, wolves beside deer. None feared. None killed. All were at peace.
In the distance, a city shimmered with gold and white stone—a city not built by human hands. Towers of light rose like spires. Walls glowed like dawn. Gates stood open, welcoming.
It was the New Jerusalem.
Lucia felt her knees weaken. “Oh God… it’s exactly as Scripture said…”
James murmured, “More than Scripture said.”
3. Reunion
Shouts of joy drew their attention.
People—countless people—emerged from the hills, the meadows, the forests. Some ran, weeping; some walked in stunned reverence. Children danced. Elders embraced one another with healed limbs and renewed youth. Families reunited with loved ones they had buried long ago.
James and Lucia scanned the crowds—
“There!” Lucia cried.
Father O’Connor walked toward them, younger, stronger, his limp gone. Bishop Rinaldi followed, tears streaming down his face as he crossed himself repeatedly.
Behind them, supported gently by two angels of staggering beauty, walked the Pope—Benedict XIV.
But he was no longer bent with age or weakened by hardship.
He stood tall. Radiant. A shepherd restored.
“Holy Father!” James cried.
Benedict’s smile was gentle, full of paternal warmth. “My children,” he said softly, “the long night has ended.”
Lucia felt her heart burst with joy. “We made it.”
“No,” Benedict replied, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We were carried.”
4. The City of God
Together, they approached the New Jerusalem.
As they neared the great gates, everything grew brighter—not painfully so, but with a warmth that flooded their being with comfort and purpose.
The walls were adorned with stones of every color—jasper, sapphire, emerald, amethyst. The streets gleamed like polished gold, yet soft underfoot.
And at the center of the city—
at the heart of eternity—
stood the throne.
James shielded his eyes. Lucia fell to her knees. Rinaldi sobbed openly.
For seated upon the throne was Christ, radiant beyond description, and from His presence flowed a river of living water—pure, brilliant, alive.
Behind and around Him, the saints shone like stars. Apostles. Martyrs. Prophets. The faithful of every age.
And the glory of God illuminated everything.
No sun.
No lamp.
No shadow.
No night.
Only Him.
5. No More Tears
A soft voice whispered behind James.
“My son.”
He turned.
His mother—dead for years—stood before him, smiling through joyous tears. She embraced him, and for the first time in decades, he felt whole.
Lucia saw her father waiting for her.
O’Connor saw an old friend.
Rinaldi saw parishioners he had buried.
The Pope saw cardinals who had died protecting him.
Each reunion was a burst of light, of healing, of perfect love.
And every tear shed was wiped away—not by angels, but by the One whose hands still bore the marks of the nails.
“Behold,” Christ said, “I make all things new.”
6. Eternity Begins
There was no fear.
No death.
No mourning.
No pain.
No tyranny.
No deception.
No false shepherds.
No darkness.
Only joy.
Only peace.
Only truth.
Only God.
Lucia stood beside James, watching the river of life flow through the city’s center.
“What happens now?” she asked softly.
James smiled. “I don’t know.”
The Pope approached them, his eyes fixed on the throne at the city’s heart.
“But whatever it is,” Benedict said, “it will be glorious.”
Angels sang in a celestial chorus above them.
The gates of the eternal city opened wide.
The redeemed stepped forward together—
into the life for which they had always been created,
into the world that would never pass away,
into the endless day where God dwelt with His people.
The old had gone.
The new had come.
And eternity began.
Author’s Note
This story began as a work of imagination, but it was never meant to be a simple tale of dystopia or destruction. It is, at its heart, a meditation on hope—Catholic hope. A hope that persists even when the world collapses, even when leaders fail, even when the Church herself seems overshadowed by betrayal.
Catholic eschatology does not promise escape.
It promises perseverance.
It promises trial.
And it promises, above all, that Christ does not abandon His people.
In this book, I explored a fictional scenario in which the Church is infiltrated, distorted, and nearly unrecognizable. Some may find the idea extreme; others may find it uncomfortably plausible. But the point was never to predict the future. It was to show that no matter what form corruption takes—inside or outside the Church—Christ remains the true Shepherd.
Even when shepherds falter, Christ does not.
Even when institutions crack, the Gospel endures.
Even when the world bows to counterfeit saviors, truth whispers in the hearts of the faithful.
I also wished to give a voice to those Catholics—traditional, quiet, often mocked—who cling to the Faith not because it is fashionable, but because it is true. Their perseverance mirrors the saints of old, the martyrs, the hidden faithful who preserved the Church in far darker ages than ours.
This story is not meant to frighten but to reassure:
that in every age, God preserves for Himself a remnant,
that grace survives in the shadows,
and that evil, no matter how powerful, collapses at the presence of the Living God.
If this novel has stirred something in you—an unease, a longing, a deeper curiosity—follow it. The Church doesn’t fear questions. The Church invites them, wrestles with them, and answers them with two thousand years of reflection, sacrifice, and sanctity.
Most of all, remember this:
Evil never has the last word.
Christ does.
And His word is always life.
Thank you for walking through this journey.
Thank you for imagining, for feeling, for questioning.
May the Light we long for be the Light we live by—until the day we see Him face to face.
— Chris M. Forte
Bibliography
Catechism of the Catholic Church.
Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1993.
https://www.vatican.va/archive/ENG0015/_INDEX.HTM
Aquinas, Thomas. Summa Theologiae.
Translated by Fathers of the English Dominican Province.
https://www.newadvent.org/summa/
Augustine. The City of God.
Translated by Marcus Dods.
https://www.ccel.org/ccel/augustine/city_of_god
Bellarmine, Robert. De Controversiis.
Selections summarized at:
https://bellarminestudies.com
Bible, Holy. Revised Standard Version – Catholic Edition.
Ignatius Press, 2006.
https://www.biblegateway.com/versions/Revised-Standard-Version-Catholic-Edition-RSVCE-Bible/
Francis de Sales. The Catholic Controversy.
TAN Books, 2011.
https://tanbooks.com
Justin Martyr. First Apology.
https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/0126.htm
Newman, John Henry. Difficulties of Anglicans.
https://www.newmanreader.org/works/anglicans/
Paul, St.
Second Letter to the Thessalonians.
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2+Thessalonians+2&version=RSVCE
Ratzinger, Joseph (Pope Benedict XVI). Introduction to Christianity.
Ignatius Press, 2004.
https://ignatius.com/introduction-to-christianity-ice/
Scripture citations via New American Bible (NABRE).
https://bible.usccb.org
St. Irenaeus of Lyons. Against Heresies.
https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/0103.htm
Vatican II. Lumen Gentium.
1964.
https://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_const_19641121_lumen-gentium_en.html
Footnotes
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Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC), §671–677, https://www.vatican.va/archive/ENG0015/_P1R.HTM
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John 10:11–16 (RSVCE).
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Matthew 28:20.
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CCC §890–892.
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John 16:13.
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CCC §675–677.
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St. Robert Bellarmine, De Controversiis, Book III.
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John Henry Newman, Difficulties of Anglicans, https://www.newmanreader.org/works/anglicans/
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2 Thessalonians 2:1–12.
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Romans 11:1–5.
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St. Augustine, City of God, Book XX.
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Revelation 19:11–21.
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John 6:68; Revelation 21:5.
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Revelation 22:4.
