The Apocalyse began with a new star, burning white in the northern skies. For seven days and seven nights, it burned as the sun, turning night to day.
On the first day, all electronics ceased to function. The computers, the stereos, the engines, the motors, the power lines: mankind’s technology was destroyed in less than 24 hours.
And on the second day, the skies turned: no longer blue, but scarred with red, and the clouds that gathered were scarlet and roiling.
On the third day, the skies opened and rains fell across the land. As red as blood but cold as steel, the rains fell on humans, animals, and plants alike. They contaminated lakes and streams, and the waters of the north ran red.
And on the fourth day the dreams began. They were every one all the same, and millions shared them. This is what they dreamed:
A red sun, and a parched landscape through which oleaginous black waters ran in rivulets along the ground. Black waters fall from the sky and at night choking mists cover the land.
Black, thorny plants with a thick, almost flesh-like skin that bleed when cut. Ugly, six-limbed beasts with short snouts, long, irregular teeth and heavy hides fighting each other, the victor consuming the defeated. Squat, six-limbed humanoids with red skin, fighting the beasts and each other with spears and whips.
Then the dreamer, in the bleak landscape, chained to a piece of black rock along with numerous others. His family. His friends. His neighbors. They drag the rock along the ground on rollers, then up a ramp, all the while the six-limbed humanoids whip them to work faster. They are building thick walls and low buildings from the black stones. A city of obsidian rock painstakingly built by slave labor, black stone under red skies.
On the fifth day, the eyes of a third part of men turned red. From their cornea to their scelera, even the whites of their eyes were awash with crimson. And they thrashed, and were in pain, and their nights were plagued by dreams of hell.
And on the sixth day they took to the streets, hunting in packs and killing those they hunted. Rampaging mobs of the stricken, with red eyes and faces twisted by rage, with no memory of who they were and no cognizance of what they did. Most were killed in the streets.
Many survived the attacks of the stricken, and that night dreamed of the obsidian city and the demonic slavers, and woke themselves with eyes of red, and came forth to kill. And the dead were heaped in piles, and buried in mass graves.
On the seventh day, the star Wormwood faded and as it died, so died the world. The dead tore free from their graves and came forth, covered in rot and soil, clad in stained and tattered garments. Rising, they went forth and conquered the world.
– excerpted from The Gospel of the Fall of Man