INT. ARVEN'S ROOM – MORNING
The room is darker than before. Curtains remain half-closed, dust floats in shafts of dim sunlight. The city outside hums faintly, scarred but alive.
Montage flashes: untouched food trays stacked on the floor, a cup of water left stale, pages of the notebook blank except for one name scrawled over and over: "May."
Narration: A week has passed since the catastrophe. Humanity struggles to crawl from the ashes. Streets are filled with rubble and burned-out cars, yet life pushes forward—markets reopen, soldiers patrol, priests still pray. But fear has rooted itself deep.
Arven sits at the desk, his frame thinner, eyes hollow. His hand holds a pen, unmoving.
Arven (thinking, voice cracked): Why her? Why not me?
He clenches the pen until it snaps in half. Ink stains his fingers.
EXT. CITY STREETS – DAY
Crowds shuffle along cracked roads. Children cling to their parents. Aid tents line the sidewalks, distributing food and medicine. Military trucks roar past, soldiers armed to the teeth, watching the skies.
Narration: Governments declare a fragile unity. Scientists labor without rest, dissecting fragments left by slain demons. Priests call it prophecy. Civilians rebuild homes with trembling hands. Yet nothing feels the same.
Arven walks among the people, his clothes wrinkled, his steps unsteady. His eyes scan every broken wall, every crying face, searching for her as though she might appear.
On one wall, graffiti glares back at him:
Graffiti: "THE TRUMPETS HAVE SOUNDED – THE END HAS BEGUN."
Civilians (murmuring):
– "God is testing us..."
– "No, this is punishment..."
– "Another trumpet, and we're done for..."
Arguments erupt. Some cry. Some laugh in hysteria. Arven passes them all in silence, shoulders hunched, grief heavy.
INT. MAKESHIFT COMMAND CENTER – AFTERNOON
Screens glow with live feeds from across the globe—Africa, South America, Europe, Asia. Each continent scarred, each city bearing ruins.
Researcher: We estimate over ~200M. Ten million demons attacked. Only ~500 were slain.
The room falls silent. Soldiers exchange worried glances.
Researcher (grimly): Their retreat suggests intent. This was not an invasion. It was... a demonstration.
No one speaks. The weight of that word sinks deep.
INT. SAFEHOUSE – EVENING
Candles flicker. Families sit close together, whispering prayers or sharing food. Arven sits apart in the shadows, his plate untouched. His mother places a hand on his shoulder.
Mother (softly): Please eat something. You've been fading away...
Arven just stares at the flame, eyes glassy.
Narration: May's absence is a hollow place in his chest. A reminder of how easily the world can take what it wants.
EXT. RIVERSIDE – NIGHT
Arven stands by the riverbank, the moonlight silvering the water. His family waits at the safehouse, but he couldn't stay inside. The world is too heavy.
John approaches quietly, standing beside him.
John: Arven... you haven't eaten. Your mom's scared out of her mind.
Arven (low, bitter): I saw her die, John. And they laughed. I can't—no, I won't forgive them.
He picks up a rock and hurls it into the river, the splash loud in the silence.
Arven (whispering): I'll kill them. Every last one.
John looks at him, worried but silent. The anger in Arven's eyes is something new, something dangerous.
INT. SAFEHOUSE – LATE NIGHT
The others sleep huddled together. Arven sits by the window, face pale in the moonlight. He doesn't close his eyes. He hasn't in days. His stomach growls faintly, but he ignores it. His hands tremble from exhaustion, from hunger, from rage.
Narration: One week has passed. Humanity clings to survival, patching wounds, rebuilding walls. But the shadow of the trumpets lingers.
Arven's fists clench as memories of the demons' laughter return.
Narration: The demons' words echo still—"This was only the warning."
The camera lingers on Arven's face, lit only by the moonlight.
Narration: The world waits. And so does he. Soon, the real test will come.
To be continued...