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The death of Pope Francis has left a great void within the heart of the Vatican. And in this context, the public have begun to question which cardinal will rise to succeed him. There are many articles claiming that this marks the
A man’s near-death experience reveals visions of the next pope, dark church secrets, and the emergence of a false prophet.
Key Takeaways
- The next pope will be chosen from among six cardinals revealed in a divine vision.
- Choosing the wrong pope could lead the church into darkness and division.
- A false prophet has already appeared and will influence the church's future.
- Faith and simplicity are valued over worldly status in God’s plan.
- Unity and openness within the church are crucial to its survival and growth.
What the video covers
- The video discusses the death of Pope Francis and speculation about his successor.
- Eric, a 75-year-old church cleaner near the Vatican, shares his near-death experience where Jesus revealed six cardinals as potential successors.
- Jesus emphasizes the importance of choosing the right pope to avoid a dark future for the church.
- Each cardinal represents a different path for the church, with distinct qualities and challenges.
- The testimony warns of a false prophet who has already appeared and will impact the church's future.
- Eric feels chosen for a divine mission despite his humble background, highlighting the theme of simplicity and faith.
- The video calls viewers to prayer, reflection, and engagement with the church’s future.
- It addresses divisions within the church and the need for unity across cultures and generations.
- The testimony includes vivid spiritual imagery and warnings about deception and spiritual battles within the church.
- Viewers are encouraged to comment and support the channel’s mission to spread God’s message.
Chapters
- 00:00Introduction: Pope Francis' Death and Succession Speculation
- 03:52Near-Death Experience and Vision of Jesus
- 07:43Cardinal Fredelin Ambongo Bessungu: A Torch of Hope
- 11:39The Third Cardinal and Reflections on Church Divisions
- 15:31Cardinal Mateo Zupi and the Call for Justice
- 19:31Power, Deception, and Spiritual Battles in the Church
- 23:22The False Prophet and Dark Secrets Revealed
- 31:19Conclusion: Trusting God’s Plan and Preparing for the Future
Full Transcript — Download SRT & Markdown
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end of the Vatican, that Pope Francis is the last pope. But there are also those who say that Cardinal Mateo Zupi will be chosen as the successor. So what about your thoughts? Which article do you believe tells the truth? You may find
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your conviction strengthened after hearing the story of the man below because in his sacred near-death experience, he was shown by God the successor and the dark secrets hidden behind the next leader of the church.
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Even more terrifying, God proclaimed that the false prophet had already appeared. So, who is the cardinal that will succeed? Exactly when will the false prophet emerge? What dark truths are being hidden? Stay with us until the end to best prepare yourself and your
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family. Time is running out and the word of the Lord has resounded everywhere. Leave your name and city so that we can pray for you and ask God to remember you in his divine plan. If this story has
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touched your heart, please do not hesitate to support this mission by pressing super thanks. God will return to you a hundredfold for everything you give. And if you have not yet subscribed to the channel, please do so today so we
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can continue to share God's love and light together. Now listen closely to his story. My name is Eric. I live in the suburbs of Rome, a quiet, peaceful place where you can clearly hear the wind rustling through the leaves and the
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sound of church bells ringing every morning. Where I live is only a short walk from the Vatican. So, I've had the opportunity to meet some very special people both in worldly and spiritual terms. I live alone. No wife, no
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children, no close relatives, just a few old friends who are now very frail. But strangely, I never feel lonely. Perhaps because I have God or maybe because my heart is always busy with faith. I have been a lay person for many decades.
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Since I was young, I have always stayed close to the local church. A few years ago, I took on a regular job cleaning the church, helping to prepare the liturgies, reading the Bible, and teaching catechism to children. Many
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times when participating in special pilgrimages, I had the honor of meeting Pope Francis. Everything passed by quickly and peacefully until recently.
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But one night, not long ago, everything changed. I still remember that night very clearly. The church was very quiet, and I had gone in to pray as usual. The wind blew through the cracks in the door, icy cold. I knelt down, holding
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tightly to an old rosary, a gift from my mother on the day she died. I began reading scripture, my lips moving softly like so many times before. But for some reason, I felt a strange sensation in my heart, a nameless unease. I closed my
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eyes to pray, and suddenly a beam of light shone directly onto my face. It was not electric light, nor was it moonlight, but a radiant beam coming through the church window. But, you know, at that hour, all the lights were
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off. I opened my eyes wide, my heart pounding uncontrollably, unable to move. It felt as though an invisible hand was holding me down. I didn't know what was happening anymore. When I opened my eyes again, all around me was darkness. And
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then a stream of light gradually appeared in midair. That light didn't hurt my eyes. On the contrary, it made me feel embraced. An odd warm kind of light. And then I saw him. Jesus Christ.
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Yes, it was truly him. Not an imagined figure. Not the statue I dust off every day, but him in the flesh, radiant and full of life. I didn't know what to do except cry. Tears streamed down my face
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like a child. I didn't know whether I was dreaming, dying, or already in heaven. Everything was beyond reason, yet at the same time, I felt a strange peace. Jesus looked at me. He didn't speak immediately, just looked at me
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with sorrowful yet loving eyes. Then he said, "Eric, you're not leaving yet. I have a mission for you." I wanted to ask something, but my throat choked up. A mission for me? At the age of 75, after a lifetime of merely cleaning the church
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and teaching catechism, why me? I didn't receive any further explanation, only his gaze and the light that surrounded me penetrating deep into my very bones. Then he raised his hand and pointed toward another realm of light. And from that place six figures
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gradually appeared. I saw six cardinals. They didn't speak, just stood in the light, each with a remarkably distinct appearance. Some had eyes that blazed like the fire of reform. Some were contemplative, as if bearing the memories of a thousand-year-old church.
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One was gentle like a good shepherd while another stood proud like a general. Each radiated a different path, a unique future for the church that I couldn't fully comprehend in that moment. Jesus said, "Francis is about to complete his earthly journey. A new
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election will take place. You must look closely and feel deeply, for one among them is the one I have chosen." I turned to him, lips trembling. Lord, why me?
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I'm just an old man who sweeps the church floor, someone without deep education. He looked at me without speaking further, but his gaze seemed to whisper, "It is precisely because you are simple that you will see what the
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wise overlook." I looked again at the six cardinals, my heart heavy. Something within me began to stir, a feeling of unease. Yes, because I could clearly see that if the wrong one was chosen, the church's future could turn dark. But
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there was also a glimmer of hope. Could someone as weak as me still be part of God's plan? One more thing I would like to invite you to do after listening to his full testimony about the cardinals.
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Please comment below with your thoughts on which one you believe will be chosen and continue to follow the Eternal Bible Stories channel. The first cardinal was Fredelin Ambongo Bessungu, Archbishop of Kinshasa, the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo. I had heard his name
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before, but I never thought I would see that face in such a sacred vision. He stood tall, a powerful figure like a great tree rooted in the red soil of Africa. The red cloak draped over his shoulders fluttered in an invisible
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wind, and his eyes burned brightly as if a fire blazed within them. I felt a powerful energy, a steadfast love for the church and for his people. It was not pride, but a loyalty running deep into the core of his roots and his
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faith. Jesus spoke again, not with reproach, but with a voice that resounded like a heavy reminder.
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Fredelin is a torch of hope in a land once shrouded by darkness. But that light will fade if it shines only for one nation, one way of life, and does not open itself to all humanity. I shivered as I heard those
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words, not out of fear, but because I understood all too clearly what he meant. Perhaps no one could deny that Africa is one of the places where the Catholic Church is thriving the most, with a growing number of faithful,
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seminaries filled with young priests, and a deep spirit of faith. Yet I had also heard whispered in conversations after mass of a pride slowly turning into complacency of young cardinals who believed that the future of the church must bear their own colors without the
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need to listen to others anymore. The Lord continued, his voice never harsh, but each word etched itself deeply into my mind. Strength comes from unity, not from divisions of race or culture. I bowed my head low, overwhelmed by
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emotion. Perhaps it was because I had witnessed too much division within the church, between cultures, between generations, between conservatives and progressives. And I understood that the Lord's words were not only for Cardinal Fredelin, but for all of us, those who
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think ourselves small, yet whose every word and every attitude helps shape the direction of the church. I looked again at the image of Cardinal Fredelin, now softened.
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strong heart would not close itself off out of pride, but would open wider to lead the church in Africa, not merely to grow, but to become a bridge between tradition and renewal, between north and south, between human beings and one
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another. The second cardinal I saw was Cardinal Peter Erdo. He emerged from a long hallway lined with ancient books. At first he did not look directly at me as he was focused on the open book in his hands. His expression was serious but
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not cold. It was the demeanor of a meticulous scholar, strict with the truth and convinced that every issue could be understood with enough intelligence and principle. I could hear the whisper of Latin words echoing around him, ecclesiastical legal terms,
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legal arguments swirling through the space like a speech. Everything about him was orderly from his gestures to his clothing, from the way he looked at others to the way he prayed. Not a single detail was superfluous. But then
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the light shifted. A warm light began to spread and envelop everything. Jesus appeared beside me. not speaking immediately, but placing his hand on my shoulder as if to let me feel before I heard. Eric, he said, "Do you see?
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Intelligence is a great gift, but when it lacks compassion, it can become a double-edged sword. It can sever bonds of love rather than unite the hearts that need healing." I looked back at Cardinal Erdo. At that moment, he lifted
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his head, his eyes gazing into the distance. Suddenly, I felt his heart weighed down with unspoken things.
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Perhaps sacrifices or a solitude that only a scholar could understand, walking the line between truth and humanity. I silently wondered, "Has anyone ever truly come close to him, seen him as a man in need of love rather than just
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someone who always had to be right?" Then the Lord continued, his voice gentle but resolute. Knowledge without love is merely a sharp tool that can cause harm. The church does not need another blade. It needs hands that know
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how to soothe. I felt choked with emotion. I, a 75year-old man living quietly in the outskirts of Rome, never imagined I would witness something like this. I still remember clearly the feeling when the third cardinal appeared. The vision of Cardinal Mario
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Gretch stood in stark contrast to the previous ones which had been weighed down by conservatism or the harshness of reason. Gretch's presence radiated a softness and closeness like the sea breeze blowing from the island of Malta, his homeland. He did not emerge from a
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grand gate or a hallway filled with books like the others. No, he appeared among a circle of people of all skin colors, of all social classes. There were young people weeping and elderly ones trembling from illness. And he did
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not stand above them, but sat down beside them, looking into their eyes, not with judgment, but with full attention. I heard Jesus speak, his voice gentle. This man understands the rhythm of humanity. But remember, no matter how kind a heart may be, without
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the spine of truth, it is easily swept away in a current of emotion. In the vision, Gretch reached out toward me, saying nothing, only with his eyes. And in those eyes was an invitation. Let us listen together. Let us walk forward
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together. I felt an unusual emotion, perhaps because he reminded me of my youth when I too believed that dialogue could soothe all hatred. But the Lord did not let me stop at emotion. He continued, "Renewal is a flame. If
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controlled, it will warm the entire church, but if allowed to spread uncontrollably, it can burn down precious foundations." I nodded, my heart beating faster.
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Perhaps because I knew that at this moment in the church's history, people like Gretch would be the ones to carry the torch of renewal. And they need prayer. They need support. Not because they are wrong, but because the path
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they choose is always easily misunderstood, easily opposed, and more easily swayed by the human heart than by holy will.
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The fourth cardinal, Mateo Zupi, came to me like a gentle wave. He did not appear in a scene of glory or radiant light like the previous visions. He came like a close friend, a leader whom I not only
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respected but also deeply cherished. He is the Archbishop of Bologna, renowned for his ability to reconcile opposing groups. I saw him standing amidst a chaotic crowd where arguments and hatred had clouded their hearts. His eyes looked at each person, not with
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criticism or disappointment, but full of compassion, as if he was trying to convey a message deeper than what they were feeling. Jesus spoke to me, his voice serious yet still filled with love.
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Mateo Zupi is a leader who leads not only with the mind, but also with the heart. But remember, Eric, compassion is a wonderful thing. Yet when faced with evil, compassion must be paired with justice and determination. To love does
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not mean to accept everything, especially not evil. That feeling lingered within me. Compassion, which I had always thought of as unconditional, now required caution and discernment.
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There was an awareness in Jesus's teaching that I had never grasped before. Compassion is not weakness, nor is it a surrender to wrongdoing. It is a firm stance against evil while not allowing anger to replace love. I saw
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Cardinal Zupi reach out his hand not to embrace everyone around him but to build strong bridges. These were not bridges of compromise but bridges of justice. I felt a spark of hope rise in my heart. A true leader I realized is someone who
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not only brings peace but also upholds justice. And I understood that while the church needs people of compassion, we also need those who can face evil without hesitation. The Lord continued, his voice gentler now as if reminding me, "Love everyone, but do not
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compromise with evil. Sometimes to love means to stand up and defend the truth." The fifth cardinal was Louise Antonio Taglay. He appeared in a gentle warm light that made the space feel intimate and full of life. I found
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myself standing in a large church, but instead of a sense of awe and fear, I felt warmth like that of a family, a loving community. I didn't feel alone.
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On the contrary, I felt a deep sense of belonging, as if I had come home. At the center of the church stood Cardinal Louise Antonio Taglay, often called the Francis of Asia, with a warm smile and eyes that seemed to draw you in, as if
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kindness and sincerity poured from every gesture, every word. Looking at him, I felt an immense love, a call for everyone to draw closer to one another without distinction or limits. Cardinal Taklay stood out for his ability to connect with those often overlooked by
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society. And I realized this was exactly what God wanted to emphasize. Jesus stood near me, looking at me with gentle eyes. He spoke slowly as if each word was meant to sink deep into my heart.
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Not just through my ears, but through every cell in my body. Eric, love for one another is limitless, but this love must go hand in hand with wisdom and discernment. Love is a calling, but loving the right way is more important
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than anything else. You can love everyone, but you must help them stand on their own feet. The Lord's words startled my heart. Though I had always believed that love was enough, I now realized love cannot be blind, nor can
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it be a gift without guidance. Love must be a form of wisdom. A support that not only uplifts others but helps them to rise and walk their own path. Looking at Cardinal Tegel, I saw him as the embodiment of love paired with wisdom.
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He didn't just love people. He knew how to help them feel their strength and their ability to stand firm on their own. This has always been my inner struggle. How can we love others without creating dependence and instead help
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them confidently walk their own path? He looked at me then softly said, "This is not easy, Eric. Love is sometimes a challenge. But only when we help others rise, not because they are weak, but because they need to be taught and
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equipped, does that love become lasting and truly lifechanging." I felt the power of those words like an awakening, a reminder of the responsibility that comes with loving others. God does not only want the next pope to be a loving
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person, but also someone who empowers others to find strength within themselves. In the next vision, I found myself standing in a large and quiet room, a place where everything seemed designed for contemplation and negotiation.
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There I saw Cardinal Petro Parolin, the Vatican Secretary of State, known for his calm demeanor, diplomatic finesse, and ability to maintain stability amid complex political upheavalss. He was neither ostentatious nor prideful, but carried the composed bearing of a
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seasoned strategist. Jesus stood beside him. When he looked at me, his eyes grew solemn, and he said, "Eric, power is a mighty tool. But if abused, it crushes the spirit instead of uplifting the soul. Use power to serve, not to
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control. Do not let politics obscure spiritual values." His words rang out like a wake-up call. I began to see the underlying tension between power and faith, between outward stability and inner humility. Although Cardinal Parolyn is highly respected, this vision
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was not meant to exalt him but to highlight a danger. When cleverness is devoid of humility, power becomes a tool of manipulation rather than an instrument of service. I understood that in the church power must not be used to
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reinforce personal status or sustain political influence. It must be a bridge that brings us closer to the weak to uplift and protect sacred values.
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Cardinal Paralin's calm demeanor in the eyes of the Lord only holds meaning when accompanied by humility and a sincere heart to serve. He turned to look at me, his eyes filled with kindness. True power, he said, is not what you cling
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to, but what you dare to release so that others may live. Sometimes silence and listening are the most courageous act. I felt a gentle light shine into my soul. I understood that service is not a burden but a path to liberation. In the
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eyes of the Lord, power is not the destination. It is a tool to love and build a church that is humble, unified, and radiant with light. Then the space around me changed.
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In the next vision, I found myself standing in a vast room where the dim lighting and somber atmosphere made me feel that something was not right. I could not clearly see the faces of the people around me, but there was one
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individual who particularly drew my attention. This person stood amidst the crowd dressed in ancient clothing with a discrete face and eyes full of mystery.
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I could not precisely describe what made me uneasy. But the presence of this individual truly created an unsettling feeling. Jesus appeared beside me gently explaining, "This is the false prophet Eric, a man who will emerge at critical moments for the church. He will attempt
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to manipulate the minds of those in power. His goal is to sow doubt, division, and redirect the course of the election, which will have far-reaching consequences for the future of the church. I felt a chill run down my spine
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upon hearing these words. The Lord continued, "He will not appear publicly as an enemy. Instead, he will pretend to be a friend, a counselor, using sweet words to persuade those easily deceived.
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He will skillfully create illusions, false promises that people will find hard to immediately recognize. I looked more closely at this person, and in the vision I saw him beginning to approach the cardinals participating in the election. He spoke to each one. Every
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word was gentle and persuasive, as if presenting a marvelous truth that no one could refuse.
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But I could sense the falseness, the emptiness behind those words. Jesus added, "Now you must be more careful than ever. This one will not cause harm directly through violence or threats, but will manipulate weak souls through deception. He will sow doubt in the
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hearts of the good, causing them to waver and leading them into wrong decisions." My heart achd witnessing this scene because I understood that such deception could lead to devastating consequences for the church. Leaders, those bearing great responsibility, could be deceived, and
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their decisions might not serve the church's best interests, but rather follow the manipulation of the false prophet. His promises will never hold any value, Eric. The Lord continued, everything he promises is an illusion.
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things that will never come to pass. He will make everything vague, distorting the truth to serve his personal ambitions. I looked into the eyes of Jesus, feeling the concern and seriousness in his gaze. "Then how can I distinguish him?" I asked, my heart full
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of anxiety. The Lord replied with a gentle yet understanding voice. "When facing important decisions, you must examine not only a person's words, but also their actions. If they speak only of personal gain, if they seek to divide and sow doubt, then that is a sign of
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deception. Listen and sense with your heart, for truth always accompanies love and unity, not division and conflict. In this vision, I also saw images of the cardinals listening to the false prophet. Each seemed captivated by the sweet promises, and they appeared
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unaware that they were being manipulated. Some seemed not to fully grasp what was happening, while others wavered out of complacency, feeling they had found an easier path to achieve their goals. Jesus said to me, "We must not allow these lies to infiltrate the
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church. We must always protect purity and truth. Even under external pressure, even when such people try to lead us astray." I was still stunned by the image of the false prophet. When suddenly a beam of light burst from
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heaven, warm, gentle, yet full of authority. A familiar voice resonated from deep within my soul. It was the voice of Jesus, gentle yet sharp, like a double-edged sword. Now you will see the one who is chosen. At that moment, another scene
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unfolded. I saw a man kneeling in silence. He was not prominent, not radiant or powerful as we often think of the chosen ones. He carried humility, his eyes full of understanding, compassion, and a deep sorrow. God did not immediately say his name, but I knew
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he was the one who would hold the key to leading the church through turbulent times. Pil will be chosen not because he is strong, but because he is weak and knows how to rely on me, God said.
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Immediately after, a series of interwoven visions appeared before my eyes, like disjointed film clips, yet strangely unified. I saw the man wearing the papal robe standing among the rows of seats in the conclave. But instead of consensus, I sensed a tense atmosphere.
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There were cold stars, whispered words, and even hidden contempt behind polite expressions. Gon explained, "The chosen one will face division within the very heart of the church. Some cardinals will oppose him out of fear of losing power.
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Some will envy him, and some will simply not believe he is capable of leadership." I saw this pope staying up late, alone, praying in tears, in a loneliness that power could never fill.
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I saw him hesitating before important decisions such as reforming the liturgy, expanding roles for women, or engaging in dialogue with the marginalized. He would be tempted to compromise to please everyone. God continued, "But he must choose truth, not
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convenience." The revelation shifted once again. I saw the media emerging daily. They offered much praise and criticism, but mostly doubt and ridicule. I saw protests, maliciously edited videos and anonymous attacks from political forces who saw the church as
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an obstacle to their secular agendas. This man, God said, will be attacked by a world that does not understand love and hope. They will call him outdated for defending the truth, and they will call him heretical if he shows
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tolerance. I saw him walk into slums embracing the poor and the abandoned. Yet even while doing so there were mocking voices saying that is the work of a charity worker not a pope. I saw him speaking out for peace between
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waring nations and being accused of bias. I saw him speak about the environment and being criticized for meddling in economics. He would not be loved by everyone and because of that he would be very close to the one who was
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once crucified. I turned to Jesus. In his eyes I saw no doubt, only love and absolute trust. He placed his hand on my shoulder and said, "My child, be at peace. We will not abandon the chosen one. When he feels most alone, I will be
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the shade for his soul. When he is betrayed, I will be the faithful friend.
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When he is slandered, I will be his ultimate justice. Then he looked directly at me, his gaze piercing through every layer of my soul. Eric, you too will have a role in his journey. Not as one who holds power,
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but as one who prays. Not as one who is prominent, but as one who silently keeps the flame alive. I bowed my head, tears falling. I felt small and unworthy, yet at the same time loved and trusted. God
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spoke the final words. The chosen one is not perfect, but he has given his heart to me. That is what I need. Pray for him. Protect him with your words. Waking up in the middle of the night, my heart was still trembling from
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what I had seen. I knew I could not remain silent. This is not a judgment or a political narrative but a warning that we are living in a sacred moment. The one who has been chosen is stepping into a trial
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and so is the church. Only through prayer and love, not prejudice, can we build the future of faith on a firm foundation. I do not know who will become pope. But that is less important than realizing this. Jesus is still among us. guiding
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the ship of the church with love and truth. Even if the storm rages on, the master is still on the boat. And that boat will not sink. I knelt down to pray for the future pope that he may hear the Lord
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and have the courage to obey his will. for the church that we may no longer doubt or condemn each other but seek him together in unity and for the whole world for the lost and lonely hearts that they too may feel the light of the
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one who is always present. I am not a theologian just a sinner who has seen something sacred and because of that I cannot stay silent. I believe that even when darkness covers the earth, the church still stands firm because its
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foundation is faith and its soul is love. No power can destroy that if we live by his words to love as he loved. I hope what I have shared is not just information but a reminder to live meaningfully, to love more, forgive
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more, and serve more. If I could leave behind just one message, it would be this. God is with us in the voice of our conscience, in the eyes of the poor, and in the heart that knows how to love
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unconditionally. The list of cardinals who will succeed the pope has been released. Now our task is to trust in the word of God and wait. But what about Pope Francis? Have you ever wondered where he would go after his death?
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Heaven or hell? Then listen to the following testimony of a woman who was shown by God. Perhaps the truth is exactly what you have been thinking about. I truly felt a chill down my spine when I read the news yesterday.
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Pope Francis has passed away. Because we had received a few strange letters, near-death testimonies sent to us quietly claiming that they had seen a shocking vision. the Pope had died. At the time, I didn't have the courage to believe it, but everything
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changed when a letter arrived from someone within the church itself, carrying a divine encounter that could not be dismissed. That's when I knew this wasn't just a death. This was something far deeper. The woman in this story truly died. And at the very moment
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her soul left her body, she was taken to the deepest realms of the afterlife.
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There she witnessed something unimaginable. Pope Francis was not in heaven but suffering in the depths of hell. But the story doesn't end there.
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How could someone once honored as the vicor of Christ on earth appear in such a place of darkness? Could there be something hidden behind that white robe?
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A secret the world is afraid to confront. This story is not told to judge but to awaken. and you need to listen all the way through because this may not only change the way you see the Pope, it may change the way you see your
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own soul. Before we begin, please leave your name and the city you're watching from so we can pray for you by name and lift you up before the Lord. If this message stirs even the smallest part of your spirit, we ask you to consider
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supporting this mission by clicking super thanks. No matter what you give, God will return it to you a hundfold.
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And if you haven't subscribed yet, do it today. Be part of a growing family, 20,000 hearts this month, sharing the love, the truth, and the light of God.
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Now, listen closely to her story. At the end of April 2025, gentle sunlight streamed through the window of a small office in the Vatican where I, Luchia, served in the missionaries of charity. On the desk lay charity documents, urgent letters, and a
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wooden statue of Jesus I often touched while praying. Today I received a special directive to prepare the final arrangements for Pope Francis, from the funeral to the archiving of his last will. No one explained why, only that it
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had to be done swiftly. I assumed he was gravely ill, and my heart sank. I had met him once. His warm smile and call to help the poor had convinced me he was a beacon of light, surely destined for
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heaven. I began my tasks, reviewing the guest list for the funeral, drafting letters to refugee camps he had supported. But then a dull headache began creeping up from the base of my neck to my temples. I dismissed it as
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fatigue from sleepless nights or perhaps from the storm of thoughts lately, especially after stumbling upon reports of abuse buried deep in the Vatican archives. I ignored it and whispered, "Lord, please guide the church and the Holy Father, but the pain intensified.
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My vision turned hazy, my breath became short, and my chest felt as if pressed under invisible weight." The other sisters urged me to rest, but I shook my head. I must finish this for the pope. Before I could say another
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word, a bolt of pain like lightning struck my head, forcing me to bend over.
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The rooms spun wildly. The voices of the sisters calling my name faded into the distance. I collapsed. The last image I saw was the statue of Christ looking straight at me. I didn't realize then that I was crossing the threshold
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between life and death. The pain crashed over me like a giant wave slamming into my chest, nearly taking my breath away. The sisters at the convent rushed to call a doctor. A nurse arrived, administered an injection, and gently urged me to rest.
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I returned to my room and lay down on my familiar, modest bed, trying to focus on prayer to soothe my weary body. But instead of calming down, an unmistakable sense of unease began to rise, strong and clear, as if an invisible force was
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pulling my soul out of my body. I closed my eyes, and at that very moment, the room was suddenly flooded with light.
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Not ordinary light, but something radiant and impossibly warm, like a sacred flame bursting forth from heaven.
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I tried to open my eyes to move, but my body no longer responded. In that instant, I knew my soul had departed from my flesh. Looking down, I saw my lifeless body lying still on the bed, my face pale like someone already gone. A
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wave of disorientation washed over me. Yet it came hand in hand with an unfamiliar lightness. Every burden vanished. No more worries about unfinished documents, incomplete charity work, or even the internal conflicts I had about the church. The room remained
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the same familiar space, but it now carried an atmosphere of silence and holiness, as if the world had paused to bear witness. I asked myself, could I have died? And what about the Holy Father? Who will carry on the work? A
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nameless fear stirred inside me, but so did a piece I had never known. It felt as if I were being shielded by an invisible love. And then they appeared. Two angels stepped into the light. Their very forms seemed sculpted from pure radiance. They
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wore spotless white robes. They didn't need to introduce themselves. Their presence alone transformed the space around them. Their faces weren't exactly faces, but luminous expressions.
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Brilliant yet not blinding. Majestic yet never intimidating. Their eyes met mine. Serene, deep, and gentle. Yet they made me feel smaller than I had ever felt. I trembled within, not out of fear, but because I knew I stood before something
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far beyond all human understanding. I couldn't speak, but a question echoed uncontainably in my mind. Who are you?
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An angel spoke, their voice as clear and resonant as church bells echoing through a sanctuary. Lucia, rise. We have a place to go. The words weren't merely sound, but a current of power, gentle yet filled with authority, piercing into
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my soul. It was like a king's command, yet as tender as a mother's lullabi. I felt a deep faith rise within me, as though the Lord himself had placed his hand on my shoulder, dissolving all confusion. Where I wanted to ask, but no
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words came from my lips. The angel's eyes locked onto mine, gentle yet unwavering, as if to say that every question would be answered if only I would follow.
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I moved with them, not walking, but gliding, lifted by an invisible stream of light. The convent room dissolved behind us, replaced by an immense space wrapped in silvery white mist that sparkled like particles of living light.
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There was no ground, no sky, only the sensation of drifting, weightless and unanchored. Time seemed to dissolve. No more minutes, no more hours, only eternity. I tried to look back, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Vatican, of
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the statue of Jesus on my desk, but all of it had vanished. It was just me and the two angels guiding me through a nameless realm. A mixture of wonder and unease stirred within me, like standing before the archives of the Vatican,
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facing secrets I had never dared uncover. Then, through the fog, a massive black door appeared. It towered so high it seemed to pierce the invisible heavens as wide as St. Peter's Square. Its surface was made of obsidian, glossy and dark, etched with
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ancient patterns like the manuscripts I'd once glimpsed in the hidden vaults of the Vatican. Texts about sin, scandal, and truths the church had buried. The carvings swirled slowly, alive, somehow breathing. Each pulse released a scent of charred ash laced with coldness, like
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the remains of a long extinguished fire. I thought of the abuse reports, the shadowy financial records I had once dared to read in secret, and my heart trembled. This door led into a truth I wasn't ready to face. Fear surged through me like a cold
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wave crashing against my soul. With every breath of the door, my heart pounded harder, as if warning me that stepping through would mean witnessing something unforgettable. I wanted to turn back, to return to the safe room in the Vatican, but the angel's gaze held
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me steady. One angel, their wings gently beating, stirred a warm breeze that chased away the chill. They whispered, "You will witness the justice of God." That voice was like a small flame, igniting hope in the midst of darkness.
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I looked at their radiant hands as they pressed them against the door. The ancient carvings glowed as if awakened, and the massive gate slowly creaked open with a sound-like wind howling through a graveyard. A blast of searing heat
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rushed out, thick with the stench of sulfur and distant cries of anguish. The air was suffocating, dense, like scorched ash. Yet the coldness reached deep into the soul. Flames roared alive, writhing with eerie consciousness. The sky above was pitch black, cloaked in
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smoke that smothered all light. The sound of screaming echoed. Shrieks of torment so sharp they sliced through my awareness. Souls writhed in flames of repentance, unable to die, forced to live eternally in regret. The memories of their sins repeated endlessly, each
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time more agonizing than the last. Horrific creatures wandered among them. Monstrous beings with enormous bat-like wings, razor claws, and faces that were deep pits of hatred, tormenting the souls while cackling with cruel delight.
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A woman was bound by invisible chains. Her soul impaled by hooks of iron, moaning as the shackles tightened.
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Another soul plunged into a bottomless pit, her scream fading into the abyss. The angel spoke. This is the consequence of souls who reject the light, a place where sin is revealed as clearly as in a mirror. I thought of the church. Could
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the popes I once revered be here? In the distance, I caught a glimpse of a white robe, but the angel gently led me away.
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Hell was eternal regret with no exit. The angel led me into a vast hall of mirrors within hell. Cold stone walls surrounded us, and hundreds of mirrors floated midair, each one reflecting the soul of a cardinal. The dim light
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emitted from the mirrors was not warm, but chilling, like frost biting into the spirit. I saw one cardinal, his red robes tattered, standing before a mirror, his face contorted with anguish.
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The mirror revealed his memories, hoarding gold from church funds, concealing injustice, manipulating the faithful to maintain power. Each image was like a blade. He tried to look away, but the mirror shattered, its shards circling through the air, slicing into
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his soul. Blood pulled beneath him. Then Jesus appeared. The light of his presence made the mirrors tremble. He declared, "They were entrusted with truth, but chose lies, leaving pain for my sheep." Behind the mirror, the faces of poor suffering believers emerged.
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Eyes burning with reproach like fire consuming the cardinal. His punishment was to stand eternally before the mirror, forced to face the falseness of his life. Every shard was a lie he once spoke. I was horrified. I realized God's
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justice does not overlook those who conceal the truth. I thought of Pope Francis. I believed he was a light, but a thread of worry tugged at my heart.
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Could he one day face a mirror like this? The angel guided me down a long corridor lined with even more mirrors, each casting a strange pale glow that created eerie shadows. Priests stood before them, their black cassixs torn,
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their faces full of remorse. One priest stared into a mirror, seeing himself preaching love, yet sewing division in his parish, abandoning the poor to please the wealthy. The mirror cracked, shards spinning like daggers, cutting deep into him. Blood trickled across the
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stone floor. He tried to flee, but the hallway stretched endlessly, mirrors appearing at every turn. Jesus stepped forward again. His radiance shook the corridor. He said, "They were called to be light, but led my flock into darkness with false words.
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In the mirrors, the faithful wept. Their hands reached out for help. But the priests could not touch them, trapped in a prison of regret. Their sentence was to walk endlessly through this hall where each mirror reflected another moment of faith. I trembled, thinking of
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the church I served. If priests were here, could Pope Francis escape judgment? I still held hope he was beloved by the people. Surely he would ascend to heaven. The angel led me through the suffocating darkness of hell, where the air was thick with the
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smell of burnt ash and a chill that pierced into the soul. They stopped before a massive stone door, its surface carved with ancient patterns like the secret documents I once saw in the Vatican archive. The door opened, revealing a vast shadowy
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chamber with only a single massive mirror at the center. The mirror towering like a cathedral dome had a surface that shimmerred like frozen water, reflecting a dim cold light. I stepped inside, my feet feeling pulled into the stone floor, my heart pounding
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as I recognized a familiar figure. It was Pope Francis, his white garments torn and soiled with mud and blood, standing alone before the mirror, his face twisted in pain. I froze in shock, heart stopped, breath caught. "Why is he
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here?" I cried out silently, my voice lost. I had been preparing his final arrangements in the Vatican, believing he was still alive, though gravely ill.
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The whole church, the people, and I myself saw him as a light, the pope for the poor, the humble one with the warm smile, surely destined for heaven. Yet here he stood in this room of hell, his eyes heavy with regret, seemingly
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imprisoned by the mirror before him, my heart twisted as if torn between faith and the truth.
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The mirror began to tremble, letting out a sound like slowly breaking glass, sharp and cold. Its surface no longer shimmerred, turning into a living screen, showing the promises he once made. We will reform the church. The poor are the heart of the gospel. I will
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bring people together. Each word echoed loud like a church bell, but distorted as if strangled by darkness.
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The mirror cracked, lines spreading like spiderw webs, and shards of glass launched into the air, spinning like blades. They flew at Francis, cutting into not his flesh, but the very core of his being, making him cry out, the sound
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of his pain echoing through the chamber. Blood flowed from invisible wounds, deep red, dripping onto the stone floor, forming a growing pool that reflected the mirror's light like a lake of blood.
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I wanted to run to him, but my feet were frozen, nailed to the ground. The mirror kept changing. The faces of the poor and hungry at the refugee camps he had promised to help. Migrants left behind at borders. The faithful lost in a
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divided church. Their eyes, hundreds, thousands, stared at Francis unblinking like flames scorching him. A migrant mother in torn clothes holding her emaciated child whispered, "You promised to save us." An old believer clutching a crucifix murmured, "You let us wander."
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Each word summoned another shard, stabbing deeper, making Francis bend over, clutching his chest, tears mixing with blood. He tried to cover the mirror as if to block the memories, but the shards clung to him, tightening like invisible thorned vines.
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I tried, he cried out, voice, but the mirror didn't stop. It showed the divided church, bishops fighting for power, the faithful turning away, scandals and abuse covered up. Each image was another cut, like his very promises turning back to punish him. I
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stood there trembling, realizing that this torment was not fire or chains, but truth. The truth he had avoided, the promises he did not keep. Suddenly, a column of black smoke rose from the ground, condensing into Satan, towering and more terrifying than any creature I
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had ever seen. He stood twice the height of a man, his skin the color of ash, eyes glowing red like burning coals. A twisted grin revealed rows of sharp teeth, each like a blade. His tattered bat wings flapped slightly, releasing a
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freezing wind laced with the stench of destruction. He stepped toward Francis, long claws tapping against the stone floor with a screeching sound. He descended here on Easter, the very day you sing of life. Satan roared, his voice half laughter, half wrath, echoing
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like thunder. He swung his arm toward Francis, and the mirror shard spun faster, cutting deeper. He promised light, but let darkness spread. I was horrified, my head spinning. Francis had died on April 21st, Easter, and the news had not yet been released. How could
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this be? I remembered his sermons, the times he washed the feet of the poor.
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But Satan didn't stop. He leaned in close, his face inches from Francis, exhaling black smoke that made him cough violently. It spoke of the poor, yet let them die in despair. Satan laughed, a sound like razors tearing through flesh
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that made me want to cover my ears. The church is divided, drowning in lies.
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It's all mine. He raised his claw and traced a circle in the air. The mirror responded, showing more scenes. Bishops arguing, abuse, documents hidden, the vulnerable abandoned. Satan clapped his hands like an audience at a theater, savoring Francis's agony. Francis
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collapsed, blood flowing from his soul like a stream, but his eyes stayed fixed on the mirror, unable to look away. "I tried," he whispered, voice fading beneath Satan's laughter. Then Satan turned, locking his fiery gaze onto me, his red eyes blazing as if they could
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devour my soul. You see now, Lucia, even the one called light belongs to me. I stepped back, heart racing, but the angel beside me touched my shoulder gently, infusing me with a hint of courage. And then light exploded into
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the room, driving back the black smoke. Jesus appeared, his white robe radiant, his light a sacred flame, warm, pure, and overwhelming. The mirror trembled, the shards stopped spinning. Satan growled and backed away, his wings curling inward. Jesus walked forward,
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his eyes sorrowful yet majestic, resting on Francis. Hayward was entrusted with my flock, yet let words obscure his duty, he said, his voice deep like the ocean. He promised reform, but let the church bleed. A promise without action
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is a shattered mirror that cuts the soul. He pointed at the mirror. It changed once again, showing the faces of the poor, but this time their expressions softened. Their eyes pleaded, not in judgment, but in hope of repentance. Francis wept, tears mixed
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with blood. His body trembled. "Lord, forgive me," he whispered, choking with emotion. Jesus placed a hand on his shoulder. A gentle light spread from his touch, soothing the wounds, though the blood still flowed. My justice does not overlook, Jesus said. But light remains
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for those who repent. His words offered a beam of hope amid the pain. Satan shrieked, claws scraping his throne, but the light drove him back, his black smoke dissolving into nothingness. I collapsed to my knees, tears spilling from my eyes, trembling in awe. If even
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Francis, the one I revered, was here, who could escape the justice of God? The room darkened once more, but the light of Christ remained as a reminder that truth, no matter how painful, is the only path to light. The angel led me to
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a vast chamber in hell, resembling a courtroom, but cold and shrouded in darkness. The greystone walls were carved with growling creatures that seemed almost alive. Dim light from the cracks above barely illuminated a rotting wooden platform in the center.
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Satan sat high upon a throne behind it. Enormous eyes gleaming with hatred, his sinister grin slicing the air like a blade. In front of the platform stood the trembling souls of church leaders, cardinals, bishops, and two popes. I
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recognized John Paul II and Benedict V 6th, their white robes torn, their faces marked by regret. Francis was nowhere in sight, but I heard faint groans from afar, as if he were still enduring the torment I had witnessed in the mirror
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chamber. Satan pointed at me, his voice hissing like wind through a graveyard. Luchia, you came to witness my trial.
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These men in white belong to me, and you will, too. He turned toward the direction of the groans and sneered.
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Francis just arrived. Let him enjoy the torment of the truth he once buried. There are many tricks I have planned for him. I trembled, recalling the shattered mirror and the blood soaked floor in the chamber before, my heart aching at the
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thought of him. The man I once believed was the church's guiding light. Satan pointed to John, whose eyes were full of fear. Smoke rose from the platform like a living screen, displaying scenes of him covering up abuse scandals,
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dismissing the pleas of victims to protect the church's image. Faces of innocent children appeared in the smoke, their eyes sharp with pain, whispering, "You abandoned us!" Jon knelt, trying to cover his face, but the smoke tightened around him as if his very sins were
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choking him. Virtu! Satan laughed loudly. He thought reputation would save him, but truth belongs to me. Then Satan turned to Benedict, who bowed his head, hands trembling. The smoke shifted, revealing how he had known of evil within the church, but remained silent,
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resigning to escape responsibility, leaving chaos and power struggles behind. Images of the fractured church appeared, bishops in conflict, the faithful lost, echoing cries that sliced through the soul like blades. Benedict covered his ears, but the cries pierced through, causing him to collapse. Satan
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roared. He ran, but he could not escape me. Fear like ice swept through me. I recalled the abuse reports I had read in the Vatican archives, and all the times I remained silent out of fear of causing scandal. Satan stretched out tendrils of
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smoke, cold as death, and one touched my soul. You are part of this church too, Luchia. Every silence of yours made me stronger. I felt my soul being dragged downward into his courtroom. My heart pounding, breath short and erratic. But
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then the memory of prayer in my little Vatican office rose up in me. I cried out, "Lord Jesus, save me." Light burst forth. Jesus appeared, his robe radiant white. His light like a sacred flame, warm and mighty, forcing Satan to recoil
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on his throne. He walked toward the platform, his eyes tender yet commanding, and spoke, "Darkness cannot overcome my light. These souls faced justice for deceit and abandoning the flock, but light is still given to those who repent." His light became a blinding
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beam, dissolving Satan's smoky tendrils. The entire chamber shook, and the stone walls cracked. He looked at John and Benedict, and his light passed over them, carrying a glimmer of hope into their sorrow. Then he turned to me, his
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voice deep and warm. Lucia, bring truth back to the world so the church does not fall into darkness. I knelt, tears flowing and pleaded, "Lord, give me strength." He placed his hand upon my shoulder, and a deep peace flooded
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through me, driving away my fear. Satan let out one last laugh, his voice weakening. "You may leave, but darkness will watch you." Then he vanished into black smoke, his throne left empty. I stood, my heart still pounding, but
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filled with resolve. This trial had not only judged them, it was a divine awakening for me. Faith is a weapon, and I must act. So the church will not belong to the darkness. Jesus stood before me in a
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radiant light, warm like a sacred flame, dispelling the darkness of hell. His eyes were gentle yet majestic, as if they could see through the depths of my soul. He took my hand, and his deep, tender voice rang out, "Lucia, my
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justice shows no partiality. I have chosen someone to lead the church a new, a humble one, a heart burning for the weak, determined to bring light into the dark corners of my flock. But you, too, must do your part. carry this truth back
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to the world so that light may triumph. His words flowed into me like a current of power, but also left a lingering question. Who is this person? I wanted to ask, but the light surged, swept me up, and I felt my soul being pulled
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forcefully back into my body. My eyelids were heavy, as if weighed down by stone.
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I opened my eyes. Blinding white light from the Vatican hospital ceiling pierced through, making me squint. The smell of antiseptic and the beeping of monitors flooded my senses. I lay in bed, my body frail, breath shallow, as though I had just run a thousand miles.
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The sisters gathered around me, their faces full of worry. I tried to speak, but my throat was dry. Only a whisper came out. When strength returned, I asked Sister Maria, "Pope Francis, how is he?" She lowered her head, eyes red,
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and whispered. "He passed away on April 21st. The Vatican hasn't announced it yet, but we were just informed." My heart clenched as if crushed. Satan's words in hell echoed. He descended here on Easter Sunday. I froze. Tears welled
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up. The man I revered, the one I believed would surely enter heaven, was there in that place of darkness. A few days later, I was strong enough to stand. I asked for permission to speak at the small church in the Vatican where
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parishioners, priests, and several bishops had gathered. Standing at the pulpit, colored light from the stained glass fell across my black habit. My heart pounded as if I were again before Satan's tribunal. The room was silent.
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Eyes filled with curiosity and doubt stared back at me. I took a deep breath and began. I have seen hell, where God's justice judges every soul, even those we once revered. My voice trembled, but each word felt led by his light. I spoke
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of cardinals who hid falsehoods, of priests who led the flock astray, and the accusing eyes of the faithful reflected in the mirror. I spoke of John Paul II, loved by the world, but kneeling before the victims of abuse,
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eyes like blades, because he had hidden crimes to protect the church's image. I spoke of Benedict the 16th, who knew of evil, but stayed silent, resigning, leaving the church to unravel, while the people's cries cut like nigh. And most
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painfully I spoke of Francis, the man I had believed to be the light, standing before a mirror of remorse, blood flowing from promises unkempt, reform, aid for the poor, unity. I spoke of Satan, laughing from his throne, exploiting these failures to
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drag the church into darkness. The crowd was stunned. I knew they couldn't accept it yet, just as I hadn't at first. Back in my room, I began writing in my journal, recording every detail. The shattered mirror, Satan's laughter, the
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light of Christ. I sent letters to the bishops, including the abuse reports I had once read in the Vatican's archives, urging them to reveal the truth and protect the victims. I knew my letter might stir controversy, but I could no
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longer remain silent. Each night I knelt before the statue of Jesus, praying for the church and for the new pope God had chosen. A humble, devoted one whose face I had yet to see. Days passed and my words began to
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spread. The Vatican church filled to capacity. Lay people, priests, and bishops came to listen. My journal was published, igniting a movement for transparency. Bishops convened conferences, released abuse records, and vowed to protect the innocent. Some opposed it, calling me a troublemaker.
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But many supported the cause, finding hope in the truth. I led charity projects, bringing the poor and migrants closer to the church, fulfilling what Francis had once promised. The lay community awakened, holding leaders accountable, praying for a purified
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church. One bishop said to me, "Sister Luchia, you've awakened us." I smiled, knowing it was the light of Christ. But Satan's words still haunted me. The darkness will watch. Every night I prayed, asking God to protect the church from falling
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again. I wrote to the new pope urging him to continue the reforms. My near-death journey had transformed both me and the church. But one thing I knew with certainty, God's justice and his light are eternal, leading through every
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shadow. Driven by a deep desire to understand the boundary between faith and truth, Luchia began opening her heart to those who had experienced the journey between life and death. She spent much time speaking with and listening to the people who sought her
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out. And unexpectedly, a female scholar came forward claiming she had been forewarned that Pope Francis would be dragged into hell. But her story, which will be revealed shortly, was unlike anything Lucia had ever encountered. The woman had even seen two other popes also
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suffering torment in hell.
Topics:Pope Francisnext popenear-death experienceJesus revelationfalse prophetCatholic ChurchVatican secretscardinalsspiritual visionchurch future
