Final Trial

[INTRODUCTION - VHS STATIC, DISTORTED AUDIO]

A grainy screen flickers. A voice, deep and warped, crackles through the static.

"Rise, O faithful. Your time has come. Welcome to eternity."

The screen clears, revealing an infinite, white void. The dead rise from the grave—millions of souls, their faces filled with anticipation. Some cry tears of joy, hands raised in worship, awaiting the golden gates. Others collapse in relief. They have made it.

Then, the sky shifts.

The whiteness fractures like a shattered mirror, revealing an abyss beyond. A deep, endless blackness. And in that blackness, something watches.

[BROADCAST - CHURCH SERVICE FROM NOWHERE]

A pulpit stands in the void. A preacher, whose face flickers in and out of focus, speaks with unnatural calm.

"Brothers and sisters, you have been deceived."

Behind him, the cross melts. The pages of a Bible flicker, shifting between languages never spoken by man.

"The Book was never meant to save you. The prayers were whispers into a void. The faith you held so dearly—an act, a grand deception."

The congregation, millions strong, begins to murmur. Disbelief. Fear.

The preacher smiles. His teeth are too white. Too sharp.

[THE FIRST REVELATION - MEMORY LOOP]

The dead begin to see it. Their lives replay before them, but the moments of goodness—the charity, the kindness, the love—were never their own. They were… implanted.

Acts of righteousness were not for salvation but for sustenance.

A higher being had fed on their virtue. Every prayer, every act of selflessness, was a thread in the web of control.

A figure emerges. Not God. Not the devil. Something older.

It stands tall, featureless, an absence rather than a presence.

It has no name.

And it has been watching.

[THE SECOND REVELATION - THE BETRAYAL]

The screen distorts. Faces melt into static.

The entity speaks, but the voice is not sound—it is an intrusion in the mind, a violation of thought.

"We created goodness. Not for reward. Not for heaven. But to keep you docile. To keep you ripe."

The faithful weep. Some scream, clawing at the sky, begging for a salvation that will never come.

A voice rises from the crowd, desperate.

"But the Bible—!"
"A cage."
"But Jesus—!"
"An actor."
"But Heaven—!"
"A dream."

The ground beneath them vanishes. There is no paradise. There is no hell. There is only the consuming dark.

[THE FINAL MESSAGE - EMERGENCY BROADCAST]

A screen flickers. An old television. A blue screen, text appearing slowly, methodically.

"DO NOT TRUST THE LIGHT."
"DO NOT SPEAK TO THE VOICE."
"DO NOT FOLLOW THE GATES."

The screen distorts. A face appears for a brief moment, eyes wide, mouth open in an eternal, silent scream.

Then, darkness.

A whisper, barely audible.

"It’s still feeding."

[END OF BROADCAS......]

A flicker of light appears in the void. Faint. Distant. A voice echoes, one not of deception, but of power—commanding yet gentle.

"Do not be afraid."

The void trembles. The preacher's form distorts, his face stretching unnaturally. His teeth rot, his skin blackens. His body peels away, revealing something monstrous beneath.

"No…" it hisses, recoiling. "Not Him."

The dead look toward the light. A pathway begins to form, lined with shadows that whisper and claw, illusions of past sins, regrets, and despair.

This is the Hellway—a final test of faith, where the soul must endure insanity, where reality bends and fractures, where the mind is broken so the spirit may ascend.

Some falter, consumed by doubt, pulled into the abyss by hands that look familiar—family, lovers, friends, lost to deception.

Others press forward, crawling, walking, running toward the radiance. They hear the words, ancient and eternal:

"Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God." — 1 John 4:1

The sky cracks, revealing a presence beyond comprehension. It is not just light, not just warmth. It is Truth. It is the real God.

The Hellway burns away the lies. The impostor is cast into the abyss, screaming.

The faithful, scarred but whole, step beyond the threshold.

A screen flickers. An old television. A blue screen, text appearing slowly, methodically.

"FAITH WAS NEVER A LIE."
"THE TEST IS OVER."
"YOU ARE LOVED."

The screen distorts. A face appears for a brief moment—not of horror, but of peace. Eyes filled with light.

Then, silence.

A whisper, gentle and reassuring.

"Welcome home."

[END OF BROADCAST]