The wind howled through the cracked and broken windows of the old church, its once-grand spires now crumbling under the weight of neglect and decay. Dark clouds churned overhead, casting the world in an eerie, dim light, as if even the sun had turned its back on the desolation below. The once-sacred grounds had become a place of nightmares.
Inside, Father Ezekiel stood at the altar, his figure barely visible amidst the flickering candlelight. His tattered cassock hung loosely around his gaunt frame, and his eyes burned with a fanatical light. The soft murmurs of his followers echoed through the church, a ragged group of survivors huddled in the pews, their faces pale and gaunt, believing salvation could still be found in this hollow place.
