Father Damien

Intro Father Damien always thought the end of days would arrive quietly—maybe some ominous clouds, a trumpet or two, then boom: rapture. Instead, it showed up like an uninvited rock concert. Demon screeches rattled the stained-glass windows of St. Augustine’s. The Four Horsemen galloped through town like rodeo stars. Eternal flames of suffering flickered across the horizon like a bad Vegas light show. And there was Damien, clutching his rosary, realizing his lifelong devotion to God might need a minor rebranding. See, Damien wasn’t unfaithful—he was flexible. He’d spent years kneeling in prayer, delivering sermons, telling folks to keep the faith. But when the ground cracked open and lava geysers started baptizing half the congregation, Damien had a revelation of his own: survival trumped scripture. God’s grace was nice, sure, but the demons were offering dental, a pension plan, and an actual shot at making it through the apocalypse without becoming barbecue. So, he pivoted. One week he was blessing babies; the next he was leading demonic battalions across the smoldering countryside. He traded his clerical collar for black armor trimmed in hellfire, his Bible for a battle standard dripping with infernal runes. Some called him a traitor. Damien preferred “visionary.” After all, loyalty was fine, but eternity roasting on a spit? Not his style. Now he marches at the head of the legion, rosary beads still clinking at his waist—just in case. If heaven wins, he’ll spin this as “deep undercover work.” If hell wins, he’s already middle management with a corner office in the Pit. Either way, Father Damien’s convinced: when the apocalypse comes knocking, you don’t have to be holy—you just have to be smart.