Saudi Imam DIES Mid-Prayer on Ramadan Night — Wakes Up: Jesus Warns Feb 26, 2026 Is the Final Day

I  died  during  the  holiest  prayer  of Ramadan.

For  72  hours,  I  was  gone.

and what  I  saw  on  the  other  side.

What  Jesus showed  me.

It’s  why  I’m  begging  you  to listen.

Because  February  26th,  2026  is closer  than  you  think.

And  none  of  us are  ready.

Not  you,  not  me,  not  anyone.

My  name  is  Abdullah  Ziz  al-Mansuri.

I was  a  Saudi  imam  for  32  years.

I  thought I  knew  God.

I  thought  I  knew  truth.

Then I  died  in  front  of  3,000  worshippers  and Jesus  Christ  himself  took  me  on  a journey  that  shattered  everything  I believed.

What  he  showed  me  about  February  26th, 2026, it’s  already  starting  and  we  have  less time  than  anyone  realizes.

I  need  you  to  understand  something before  I  begin.

I’m  not  here  to  convert you.

I’m  not  here  to  attack  anyone’s faith.

I’m  here  because  I  was  shown something  so  urgent,  so  catastrophic, it’s  so  worldshattering  that  I  was commanded.

Commanded  to  share  it.

And  if you  dismiss  this  as  the  ramblings  of  a man  who  had  a  near-death  hallucination, that’s  your  choice.

But  what  happened  to  me  was  more  real than  anything  I’ve  ever  experienced  in my  58  years  of  life.

More  real  than  my first  breath,  more  real  than  my  wedding day,  more  real  than  holding  my  children for  the  first  time,  and  infinitely  more terrifying.

Let  me  take  you  back  to  April  23rd, 2024, the  27th  night  of  Ramadan, Leil  Alcader,  the  night  of  power,  the holiest  night  in  the  Islamic  calendar.

I was  about  to  die,  but  I  didn’t  know  it yet.

The  King  Fad  Gran  Mosque  in  Riyad was  packed  that  night.

Over  3,000  men had  gathered  for  Tarowi  prayers.

The energy  was  electric.

You  could  feel  it in  the  air,  thick  and  heavy  like humidity  before  a  storm.

During  Ramadan,  we  believe  the  gates  of heaven  open  wide,  that  angels  descend, that  every  prayer  carries  extra  weight.

I  stood  at  the  front  facing  Mecca,  my voice  amplified  through  speakers  that carried  my  recitation  to  every  corner  of the  massive  prayer  hall.

For  32  years, this  had  been  my  life.

Five  times  a  day, I  led  prayers.

I  taught  Quran.

I counseledled  families.

I  officiated weddings  and  funerals.

I  was  respected, honored,  known  throughout  Saudi  Arabia as  a  man  of  deep  faith  and  knowledge.

I was  also  proud.

God  help  me.

I  was  so proud.

I  started  reciting  Surah  al- Rahman,  the  most  merciful.

It’s  one  of the  most  beautiful  chapters  in  the Quran,  poetic  and  rhythmic,  asking  over and  over,  “Which  then  of  the  bounties  of your  Lord  will  you  deny?”  I  loved reciting  this  surah.

My  voice  would  rise and  fall  with  the  verses,  and  I  could see  the  effect  on  the  congregation.

Men swaying,  tears  streaming  down  faces, hands  raised  in  supplication.

In  those  moments,  I  felt  powerful.

I felt  chosen.

I  felt  like  I  was  the conduit  between  heaven  and  earth.

That pride,  that  sense  of  spiritual superiority, it  was  about  to  be  demolished.

I  was  on verse  43  when  the  pain  hit.

It  started in  my  chest.

A  squeezing  sensation  like a  giant  fist  had  reached  inside  my  rib cage  and  grabbed  my  heart.

I  stumbled midward.

My  voice  cracked.

The microphone  caught  it,  amplified  it throughout  the  mosque.

For  a  split second,  I  thought,  “This  is  nothing.

Keep  going.

Don’t  show  weakness.

” Pride  again.

Even  as  my  body  was shutting  down,  I  was  worried  about appearances.

Then  the  pain  exploded.

It wasn’t  just  my  chest  anymore.

It  was  my left  arm,  my  jaw,  my  back.

Every  nerve in  my  body  screamed  at  once.

The  mosque began  to  spin.

The  ornate  ceiling  with its  geometric  pattern  swirled  above  me like  a  kaleidoscope.

I  saw  the  faces  of the  men  in  the  front  row  turned  toward me  in  slow  motion.

Confusion,  then alarm,  then  horror.

My  knees  buckled.

I reached  out  for  something,  anything  to steady  myself,  but  my  hand  grasped  only air.

And  then  I  fell.

The  last  thing  I remember  from  that  moment  was  the  cold marble  floor  against  my  cheek  and  a thought  flashing  through  my  mind.

I’m going  to  die  right  here,  right  now,  in front  of  everyone.

And  then  darkness,  but  not  silence.

Here’s  what  I  need  you  to  understand.

Death  isn’t  like  falling  asleep.

It’s not  peaceful.

It’s  not  like  gradually fading  into  nothing.

It’s  violent.

It’s immediate.

It’s  like  being  ripped  out  of your  body  by  invisible  hands.

One second,  I  was  on  the  mosque  floor,  pain radiating  through  every  cell.

The  next second,  I  was  standing,  but  I  wasn’t  in the  mosque  anymore.

I  need  to  describe this  place  carefully  because  words  don’t really  capture  it.

Imagine  standing  in thick  fog,  but  the  fog  isn’t  made  of water.

It’s  made  of  something  else, something  that  feels  alive.

The  ground beneath  my  feet  was  solid,  but  also  not solid.

I  could  see  it,  but  when  I  looked down,  I  couldn’t  quite  focus  on  it.

The light  was  wrong.

It  came  from  everywhere and  nowhere  at  once.

Not  bright,  not dark,  but  gray.

A  gray  that  hurt  to  look at  because  it  contained  every  color  and no  color  simultaneously.

And  the  silence.

Oh  god,  the  silence.

It wasn’t  peaceful.

It  was  oppressive.

It pressed  against  my  ears  like  atmospheric preacher  at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean.

But underneath  that  silence,  I  could  hear something.

Whispers.

Thousands  of  them,  millions,  maybe voices  speaking  languages  I  didn’t understand,  all  overlapping,  creating this  constant  static  hum.

I  tried  to speak.

Hello.

My  voice  came  out,  but  it didn’t  echo.

It  just  stopped  like  the air  swallowed  it.

That’s  when  the  fear hit  me.

Real  fear.

The  kind  that  makes your  stomach  drop  and  your  skin  go  cold.

because  I  suddenly  realized  I  have  no idea  where  I  am.

I  have  no  idea  what’s happening  and  I  have  absolutely  no control.

I  started  walking.

I  don’t  know why.

There  was  no  direction,  no  path,  no destination  visible,  but  standing  still felt  worse  than  moving.

As  I  walked, shapes  began  to  emerge  from  the  fog.

At first,  I  thought  they  were  rocks  or trees.

But  as  I  got  closer,  I  realized they  were  people.

Hundreds  of  them.

Thousands.

All  standing  motionless, staring  at  nothing.

I  approached  the nearest  one.

A  man  maybe  30  years  old, wearing  clothes  I  didn’t  recognize.

Middle  Eastern  features.

I  waved  my  hand in  front  of  his  face.

Nothing.

No reaction.

His  eyes  were  open,  but  there was  nothing  behind  them.

Empty,  like looking  at  a  mannequin.

“Excuse  me,”  I said,  my  voice  shaking.

“Where  are  we?” No  response.

I  moved  to  the  next  person, an  elderly  woman.

Same  thing.

Then  a young  boy,  then  a  businessman  in  a  suit, then  a  woman  in  a  hijab.

All  of  them frozen.

All  of  them  empty.

Panic  started to  claw  at  my  throat.

“Hello!”  I  shouted into  the  fog,  “Someone  help  me!  Where  am I?”  My  voice  disappeared  into  the  gray.

The  whispers  grew  louder,  and  for  the first  time  since  my  collapse,  I wondered,  “Am  I  dead?  Is  this  is  this hell?”  But  it  couldn’t  be  hell.

I  was  a Muslim  imam.

I  had  prayed  five  times  a day  for  decades.

I  had  fasted.

I  had given  to  charity.

I  had  lived  according to  the  law.

Surely,  surely  I  would  be spared.

That’s  when  I  heard  the  other sounds  beneath  the  whispers  coming  from somewhere  in  the  distance.

Screaming, whailing,  the  sound  of  agony  so  pure,  so raw  that  it  made  my  blood  freeze.

And  I realized  something  that  made  my  legs almost  give  out.

This  isn’t  hell.

This is  the  waiting  room.

And  I  don’t  know where  I’m  going  next.

The  ground  began to  shake,  not  violently,  but rhythmically,  like  footsteps.

Something  was  coming,  something  massive.

The  frozen  people  around  me  didn’t react,  but  I  could  feel  it.

A  presence approaching,  getting  closer  with  each thunderous  step.

The  fog  began  to  part.

And  I  saw  I  I  saw  I  saw  something.

thing I  still  don’t  have  words  for.

A  figure, enormous,  made  of  shadows  and  darkness.

Where  it  moved,  the  fog  recoiled.

Where it  looked,  the  very  air  seemed  to wither.

It  had  eyes,  countless  eyes covering  what  I  think  was  its  body.

And those  eyes  were  looking  for  something.

They  were  looking  for  me.

I  ran.

I  don’t remember  deciding  to  run.

My  body  just moved  on.

pure  instinct  behind  me.

I could  hear  it  following,  not  hurrying, not  chasing,  just  walking  with  those same  steady,  thunderous  steps  because  it knew  something  I  was  just  beginning  to understand.

There  was  nowhere  to  run.

This  place  didn’t  have  exits.

It  didn’t have  edges.

It  just  was.

I  ran  past  more frozen  people,  past  shapes  in  the  fog that  I  didn’t  want  to  look  at  too closely,  past  sounds  that  made  me  want to  clap  my  hands  over  my  ears.

And  all the  while,  those  footsteps  behind  me never  stopped,  never  sped  up,  never slowed  down.

And  then,  just  when  I thought  my  lungs  would  explode,  just when  I  thought  I  couldn’t  take  another step,  light.

real  light.

Not  the  gray non  light  of  the  fog.

Actual  brilliant warm  light.

It  cut  through  the  fog  ahead of  me  like  a  search  light.

A  beam  of pure  radiance  that  seemed  to  push  back the  darkness  itself.

I  ran  toward  it.

My legs  burning.

My  heart.

Did  I  even  have a  heart  anymore?  Pounding  in  my  chest.

The  footsteps  behind  me  stopped.

The presence,  whatever  it  was,  seemed  to retreat.

Even  the  whispers  faded.

And  as I  got  closer  to  the  light,  I  saw  a figure  standing  in  it.

A  man  waiting  for me.

He  was  facing  away,  his  back  to  me.

But  I  could  see  that  he  was  wearing simple  white  robes.

His  hair  was  long, falling  to  his  shoulders.

And  even though  I  couldn’t  see  his  face,  even though  he  hadn’t  spoken,  I  felt something  radiating  from  him  that  made every  cell  in  my  body  want  to  fall  down in  worship.

Not  fear,  not  the  oppressive dread  of  the  shadow  creature.

This  was different.

This  was  majesty, authority, love,  and  terror  mixed  together  in  a  way that  shouldn’t  have  been  possible.

I stopped  running.

I  stood  there,  maybe  20 ft  away  from  him,  gasping  for  breath  I probably  didn’t  need  anymore.

And  then slowly  he  turned  around  and  I  saw  his face.

I’m  going  to  tell  you  what  he looked  like.

And  I  need  you  to understand  that  I’m  going  to  fail because  human  language,  Arabic,  English, any  language,  doesn’t  have  the  capacity to  describe  what  I  saw.

He  looked normal,  like  a  man  in  his  30s  with Middle  Eastern  features.

Of  course,  he would  have  been  from  that  region.

Dark hair,  beard,  eyes  that  were  brown,  but also  contained  depths  I  couldn’t  fathom.

When  I  looked  into  those  eyes,  I  felt like  I  was  looking  into  eternity  itself.

Not  metaphorically, literally.

like  his  gaze  could  see through  time,  through  space,  through  my soul,  down  to  the  very  core  of  my  being.

But  here’s  what  I  couldn’t  look  away from.

His  hands,  they  had  scars,  holes right  through  the  palms.

And  on  his feet,  I  glanced  down  and  saw  the  same thing.

Scars.

And  on  his  side,  visible through  his  robe,  another  scar.

My  mind reeled.

I  knew  what  those  scars  meant.

Every  Muslim  knows  the  Christian  story, even  if  we  don’t  believe  it.

We’re taught  that  Jesus,  Issa,  in  our tradition,  was  a  prophet,  yes,  but  not the  son  of  God,  not  crucified.

That  God wouldn’t  allow  his  prophet  to  be humiliated  in  such  a  way  that  someone else  was  crucified  in  his  place.

But  here  he  was.

Here  he  was.

With  the scars  to  prove  everything  I’d  been taught  was  wrong.

He  smiled  at  me.

And in  that  smile  was  more  love  than  I’d ever  experienced  in  my  entire  life.

More than  my  mother’s  embrace,  more  than  my wife’s  kiss,  more  than  holding  my newborn  children.

All  of  it  combined  and multiplied  by  infinity  wouldn’t  equal the  love  in  that  smile.

And  I  broke.

I fell  to  my  knees  and  I  wept.

Not  quiet tears,  sobbing.

Gut-wrenching,  desperate sobs  that  came  from  a  place  so  deep  I didn’t  know  it  existed.

Because  in  that moment,  in  the  presence  of  that  love, every  wall  I’d  ever  built  came  crashing down.

Every  facade,  every  pretense, every  carefully  constructed  image  of myself  as  a  righteous  man.

He  walked toward  me.

His  feet  made  no  sound.

And when  he  reached  me,  he  knelt  down.

He knelt.

This  being  of  pure  light  and power  and  majesty  knelt  in  the  dirt beside  me.

And  he  spoke.

“Abdul  Aziz,” he  said,  “my,  my  name.

”  And  I  heard  it in  my  heart  as  much  as  my  ears.

It wasn’t  loud,  but  it  filled  everything.

It  echoed  through  the  fog,  through  my bones,  through  reality  itself.

Abdul  Aziz,  do  you  know  who  I  am?  I couldn’t  speak.

My  throat  was  closed.

My mind  was  screaming  contradictions.

This couldn’t  be  happening.

This  couldn’t  be real.

Everything  I’d  believed.

Everything  I’d  taught,  everything  I’d built  my  life  on  was  shattering  like glass.

But  I  knew.

Oh,  God.

I  knew you’re  you’re  Say  it,  he  said  gently.

You  know  who  I  am.

Say  it.

You’re  Jesus.

I  whispered.

You’re  Issa.

You’re  You’re the  Christ.

He  smiled  again.

So  yes,  I am  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life.

I am  the  alpha,  and  the  omega.

I  am  the one  your  people  call  Issa.

But  I  am  so much  more  than  what  you  were  taught.

He reached  out  and  placed  his  scarred  hand on  my  shoulder.

The  touch  was  warm.

Real.

More  real  than  anything  I’d  ever felt  in  life.

You  collapsed  in  the mosque.

He  said  your  heart  stopped.

Right  now  in  your  world,  you  are clinically  dead.

Doctors  are  working  on you,  but  your  heart  won’t  restart.

Not yet.

Not  until  I  send  you  back.

Send  me back?  My  voice  was  hoarse.

Why?  Why would  you  send  me  back?  His  expression became  serious.

Not  angry,  not  stern, but  grave.

Like  a  doctor  about  to deliver  terrible  news.

Because  you  have something  you  need  to  do.

Something urgent.

Something  that  will  cost  you everything  you  have.

Your  reputation, your  position,  your  family’s  comfort, your  community’s  respect.

Are  you willing  to  pay  that  price?  I  didn’t answer  right  away.

How  could  I?  I  didn’t even  know  what  he  was  asking.

What?  What  do  you  need  me  to  do?  He stood  and  I  stood  with  him.

The  fog around  us  began  to  clear  and  what  it revealed.

We  were  standing  on  top  of  a mountain,  but  not  a  mountain  I recognized.

Below  us,  I  could  see  the entire  world.

Not  metaphorically, literally.

I  could  see  every  continent, every  ocean,  every  city.

I  could  zoom  in with  my  mind  and  see  individual  people.

I  could  see  mosques  and  churches  and temples.

I  could  see  governments  and armies  and  corporations.

And  I  could  see  something  else.

Something  that  made  my  blood  run  cold.

There  was  darkness.

Real  darkness.

Not  the  absence  of  light,  but  the presence  of  something  malevolent.

It  was  spreading  across  the  world  like an  infection.

tendrils  of  it  reaching into  governments,  into  religions,  into entertainment,  into  technology, into  hearts.

Do  you  see  it?  Jesus  asked.

Yes,  I breathed.

What  is  it?  Deception.

The final  deception.

The  one  that  will prepare  the  way  for  the  enemy’s  last attempt  at  dominion  over  this  world.

He waved  his  hand  and  the  scene  shifted.

Now  I  was  looking  at  people,  millions  of them.

They  were  going  about  their  daily lives,  working,  eating,  laughing, fighting,  loving,  hating.

But  there  was something  wrong  with  them.

Around  their heads,  I  could  see  these  these  things like  crowns,  but  made  of  shadows, whispering  to  them,  feeding  them thoughts  slowly,  gradually  turning  them away  from  truth.

It’s  happening  faster now.

Jesus  said  the  acceleration  has begun.

What  used  to  take  decades  now takes  years.

What  took  years  now  takes months.

And  the  enemy  knows  his  time  is short.

How  short?  I  asked  even  though  I was  afraid  of  the  answer.

He  turned  to me.

His  eyes  burned  with  an  intensity that  made  me  want  to  look  away.

Abdul  Aziz,  I’m  going  to  show  you something  and  then  I’m  going  to  send  you back  and  you’re  going  to  tell  people what  you  saw.

Most  won’t  believe  you.

Many  will  mock  you,  some  will  threaten you,  but  there  will  be  those  who  hear and  understand.

And  for  them,  it  will  mean  the difference  between  eternal  life  and eternal  death.

What  are  you  going  to show  me?  The  end,  he  said  simply.

the very  end  of  this  age  and  the  date  when it  all  begins.

He  touched  my  forehead and  suddenly  I  wasn’t  standing  on  the mountain  anymore.

I  was  falling  through time.

Past  and  future  colliding  around me  in  a  dizzying  spiral.

I  saw  the creation  of  the  world.

Light  exploding out  of  nothing.

Galaxies  spinning  into existence.

The  Earth  forming  from  cosmic dust.

I  saw  the  Garden  of  Eden,  though not  how  I  imagined  it.

I  saw  the  fall.

I saw  the  flood.

I  saw  Abraham,  Moses, David.

I  saw  myself.

My  entire  life playing  out  in  seconds.

Every  moment, every  choice,  every  sin  I’d  hidden, every  proud  thought,  every  judgment  I’d made  of  others  while  excusing  my  own failures.

And  I  was  ashamed.

So  deeply, utterly  ashamed.

But  the  vision  didn’t stop  at  the  present.

It  pushed  forward.

I  saw  the  near  future.

I  saw  the  year 2024  continuing  on,  seemingly  normal  to most  people.

But  underneath,  beneath  the surface,  changes  were  happening.

Governments  making  quiet  agreements.

Technologies  advancing  faster  than  ever.

My  eye,  artificial  intelligence  becoming integrated  into  every  aspect  of  life.

Slowly  people  were  giving  up  their privacy,  their  autonomy,  their  ability to  think  independently.

All  for convenience.

I  saw  the  year  2025.

The  changes  accelerating.

A  new financial  system  being  prepared.

Digital currencies  that  could  be  controlled, monitored,  shut  off  with  the  press  of  a button.

More  surveillance,  more  control.

But  it  was  marketed  as  progress.

as safety,  as  necessary  for  the  greater good.

And  people  accepted  it  because they  were  tired.

Tired  of  chaos,  tired of  uncertainty,  tired  of  freedom’s  messy complexity.

They  wanted  someone  to  tell them  what  to  do,  someone  to  make  them feel  safe.

Then  I  saw  February  26th, 2026.

The  date  burned  itself  into  my  mind  like a  brand.

I  saw  it  from  multiple  angles simultaneously,  like  watching  every  news channel  in  the  world  at  once.

On  that day,  something  happened.

Multiple somethings  actually,  all  coordinated, all  synchronized  perfectly.

I  saw  economic  collapse  in  multiple countries  at  once.

Not  gradual  decline, sudden  catastrophic  failure.

Banks closed,  markets  frozen,  people  unable  to access  their  money,  panic  in  the streets,  a  series  of  disasters,  natural and  unnatural,  earthquakes,  storms, power  grids  failing  across  entire continents.

And  here’s  what  chilled  me.

They  weren’t  random.

They  were  timed, coordinated,  engineered,  political upheaval,  governments  falling,  emergency powers  being  declared,  martial  law  in major  cities.

And  in  the  chaos,  in  the fear,  people  crying  out  for  someone, anyone,  to  restore  order.

And  then  he arrived.

I  say  he,  but  I’m  not  sure that’s  accurate.

Wore  the  form  of  a  man.

It  spoke  with  a  man’s  voice.

But  when  I looked  at  it,  really  looked  at  it,  I could  see  something  else  underneath.

Something  ancient.

Something  that  had  been  waiting  for millennia  for  this  exact  moment.

The Antichrist,  the  Djal,  the  deceiver,  the beast.

Every  culture  has  a  name  for  it.

But  this  was  him.

This  was  Yay.

And  the world  embraced  him.

That’s  what  broke  my heart.

That’s  what  made  me  weep  as  I watched.

Not  that  he  came.

We’ve  been warned  about  that  for  thousands  of years.

But  that  people  welcomed  him.

They  cheered  for  him.

They  worshiped  him because  he  promised  them  exactly  what they  wanted.

Peace,  security, prosperity, unity.

All  he  asked  in  return  was  their complete  allegiance.

their  total surrender,  their  eternal  souls.

And  they  gave  it  willingly, eagerly,  desperately.

I  saw  people  lining  up  to  receive  his mark.

A  mark  that  would  allow  them  to buy  and  sell,  to  participate  in  society, to  have  jobs  and  food  and  safety.

Without  it,  you  were  nothing.

Outcast, starving,  hunted.

The  mark  wasn’t  just physical.

It  was  spiritual.

It  was  a chain  that  bound  people  to  him,  that separated  them  from  God  forever.

And once  it  was  taken,  there  was  no  going back.

No  repentance,  no  redemption.

Done.

Jesus  pulled  me  back  from  the vision.

We  were  on  the  mountain  again.

I was  on  my  hands  and  knees,  gasping, tears  streaming  down  my  face.

February 26th,  2026.

He  said  that’s  when  it begins.

The  final  countdown.

From  that  day,  events  will  accelerate beyond  anything  humanity  has  ever experienced.

3  and  1/2  years  of  relative  peace  under his  rule.

But  it’s  a  lie.

It’s  a  trap.

And  then  three  and  a  half  years  of tribulation  so  terrible  that  if  I  didn’t cut  it  short,  no  flesh  would  survive.

But  why?  I  choked  out.

Why  show  me  this? I’m  just  one  man.

I  can’t  stop  it.

I can’t  change  it.

You’re  not  meant  to stop  it,  he  said  gently.

It  must  happen.

It’s  been  written  since  before  the foundation  of  the  world.

But  you  can warn  people.

You  can  tell  them  what’s coming.

You  can  give  them  a  choice.

What  choice?  He  knelt  down  again, looking  into  my  eyes.

The  choice  between me  and  the  world,  between  truth  and comfort,  between  eternal  life  and temporary  safety.

Abdulaziz,  you’ve  spent  32  years teaching  people  about  God.

But  you taught  them  about  law,  about  rules, about  earning  their  way  to  paradise through  good  deeds  and  proper  behavior.

You  taught  them  pride  dressed  up  as piety.

His  words  cut  me,  but  they  were  true.

So painfully  true.

I’m  not  a  set  of  rules, he  continued.

I’m  not  a  philosophy.

I’m not  a  religion.

I  am  I  am  God  made flesh.

I  am  the  bridge  between  heaven and  earth.

I  am  the  only  way  to  the father.

Not  through  good  works,  though good  works  flow  naturally  from  those  who love  me.

Not  through  religious observance,  though  true  worship  is beautiful,  but  through  surrender, through  faith,  through  accepting  what  I did  on  that  cross.

He  held  up  his scarred  hands.

These  scars  are  real.

The crucifixion  happened.

I  died.

I  took  on the  sins  of  the  world,  including  yours.

And  I  paid  the  price  that  justice demanded.

And  then  I  rose.

I  conquered death.

I  opened  the  way  for  everyone  who believes  to  have  eternal  life.

But Islam,  I  started.

Islam  is  a  beautiful attempt  to  reach  God  through  human effort.

But  it’s  insufficient.

Because the  gap  between  God  and  humanity  isn’t crossable  through  human  effort.

The  gap is  too  wide.

The  sin  too  deep.

That’s why  I  came.

That’s  why  I  died.

That’s why  I  rose.

To  do  for  humanity  what humanity  could  never  do  for  itself.

You’re  sending  me  back.

I  said  it  wasn’t a  question.

Yes.

You’ll  wake  up  in  a hospital.

Your  heart  will  have  been stopped  for  72  hours.

The  doctors  will call  it  a  miracle.

Your  family  will  call it  Allah’s  mercy.

But  you’ll  know  the truth.

You’ll  know  who  brought  you  back and  you’ll  know  why.

To  warn  people about  February  26th,  2026.

Yes.

And  to  tell  them  about  me.

The  real me.

Not  the  sanitized  prophet  that  Islam makes  me,  but  the  risen  Lord,  the  son  of God,  the  savior  of  the  world.

Tell  them the  time  is  running  out.

Tell  them  that the  deception  is  already  here.

And  tell them  that  they  need  to  choose  now, today,  while  there’s  still  time  who  they will  serve.

They’ll  never  believe  me,  I  whispered.

My  own  family  won’t  believe  me.

Some will  focus  on  them.

And  Abdul  Aziz,  he helped  me  to  my  feet.

When  you  go  back, your  body  will  be  weak.

You’ll  have  to relearn  how  to  walk,  how  to  talk clearly.

The  doctors  will  be  amazed  that you  survived  it  all.

But  you’ll  have something  they  can’t  explain.

Knowledge.

Specific  knowledge  about  things  that haven’t  happened  yet.

When  those  things start  to  come  true,  and  they  will, people  will  listen.

What  things? In  the  next  months  before  February  26th, 2026, watch  for  these  signs.

A  major assassination  attempt  on  a  world  leader that  barely  fails.

Three  nations  will form  an  alliance  that  seems  impossible given  their  history.

This  will  be announced  in  the  fall  of  2025.

A  technological  breakthrough  in  quantum computing  that  will  be  hailed  as humanity’s  greatest  achievement.

But  it  will  be  the  tool  that  enables complete  surveillance  and  control.

The  Vatican  will  make  an  announcement about  interfaith  unity  that  will  shock traditional  Catholics.

Natural  disasters  increasing  in frequency  and  intensity.

But  what  the  media  won’t  tell  people  is that  some  of  them  are  not  natural  at all.

They’re  being  manipulated  through weather  modification  technology  that most  people  don’t  even  know  exists.

And  in  early  February  2026, exactly  3  weeks  before  the  26th,  there will  be  a  financial  summit  in Switzerland.

Pay  attention  to  what  happens  there.

That’s  when  the  final  pieces  of  the beast  system  will  be  put  in  place.

the new  digital  currency,  the  social  credit system,  the  infrastructure  for  the  mark.

It  will  all  be  agreed  upon  in  that meeting.

Though  the  public  won’t understand  what  they’re  seeing.

When these  things  happen,  people  will remember  your  words.

They’ll  know  you were  telling  the  truth.

And  some  of  them will  turn  to  me  before  it’s  too  late.

Jesus  placed  both  hands  on  my  shoulders.

His  touch  was  warm,  solid,  real.

Are  you ready?  No,  I  wasn’t  ready.

How  could anyone  be  ready  for  this?  I  wanted  to ask  him  a  thousand  more  questions.

I wanted  to  stay  in  his  presence  forever.

I  wanted  to  understand  everything  about what  I’d  seen.

But  I  also  knew  that every  second  I  delayed,  people  were walking  closer  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff, and  they  were  being  deceived.

They  were being  led  like  sheep  to  slaughter.

And  I had  information  that  could  save  at  least some  of  them.

“Send  me  back,”  I  said.

He smiled.

“You  won’t  remember  everything at  once.

The  memories  will  come  back gradually  over  days  and  weeks.

This  is mercy.

If  you  remembered  it  all  at  once, your  mind  couldn’t  handle  it.

But  you’ll remember  enough.

You’ll  remember  the date.

You’ll  remember  the  warning.

And you’ll  remember  me.

Will  I?  Will  I  see you  again?  Yes.

Either  when  I  return from  my  people  soon  now.

So  very  soon.

Or  when  your  time  comes  again.

But  next time  Abdul  Aziz,  you’ll  be  ready.

Next time  you’ll  come  to  me  not  as  a  confused soul  in  the  fog,  but  as  a  child  coming home  to  his  father.

Then  he  did something  I’ll  never  forget.

He  pulled me  into  an  embrace.

God  himself  holding me  like  a  father  holds  a  son.

And  he whispered  in  my  ear,  “I  love  you.

I’ve always  loved  you.

Even  when  you  didn’t know  me,  even  when  you  taught  against me,  even  when  you  were  proud  and self-righteous  and  blind,  I  loved  you.

I died  for  you.

And  I’m  so  glad  you finally  know  me.

”  I  wept  on  his shoulder.

32  years  of  religious  performance,  of trying  to  earn  God’s  favor,  of  living  in fear  of  judgment.

It  all  melted  away  in that  embrace  because  I  finally understood  it  was  never  about  earning.

It  was  always  about  receiving,  about accepting  love  that  was  freely  offered, paid  for  in  blood,  and  given  without strings.

Go  now,  he  said,  tell  them  what  you know.

Tell  them  who  I  am.

And  don’t  be afraid.

When  they  reject  you,  and  they will  remember  that  they  rejected  me first.

When  they  persecute  you,  I remember  that  I  promised  this  would happen.

When  you  feel  alone,  remember that  I  am  with  you  always  until  the  very end  of  the  age.

He  stepped  back.

The mountain  began  to  fade.

The  world  below disappeared.

His  form  became  brighter and  brighter  until  I  had  to  close  my eyes  against  the  radiance.

And  then pain,  overwhelming,  excruciating  pain.

Every  cell  in  my  body  screaming.

Pressure  on  my  chest.

Something  in  my throat.

Voices  shouting  in  Arabic.

Medical  terms  I  didn’t  understand.

Bright  lights  overhead.

The  smell  of antiseptic.

I  was  back.

I  tried  to  move,  but  my  body wouldn’t  respond.

I  tried  to  speak,  but there  was  a  tube  down  my  throat.

I  tried to  open  my  eyes,  but  the  lids  were  so heavy.

All  I  could  do  was  lie  there  as the  medical  team  worked  frantically around  me.

Someone  was  yelling,  “We  have a  pulse.

We  have  a  pulse.

”  So,  I  record the  time.

9:47  p.

m.

April  26th.

Patient  was  down  for  72  hours.

This  is this  is  medically  impossible.

72  hours.

Three  days.

Like  Jesus  in  the tomb.

The  symbolism  wasn’t  lost  on  me.

Even  in  my  weakened  state.

Over  the  next days  and  weeks,  I  pieced  together  what had  happened  from  my  family  and  the medical  team.

I  had  collapsed  during Tara  prayers  on  April  23rd.

massive  heart  attack.

I  was  dead  before I  hit  the  ground.

They  rushed  me  to  King Fisizel  Specialist  Hospital.

The  best cardiac  team  in  Saudi  Arabia  worked  on me  for  hours,  but  nothing  worked.

My heart  wouldn’t  restart.

By  all  medical standards,  I  should  have  been  pronounced dead  and  taken  to  the  morg.

But  my  wife,  Fatima,  my  beautiful  wife of  35  years,  she  refused.

She  stood  in  that  hospital  room  and declared  that  I  wasn’t  gone  yet,  but that  Allah  wasn’t  finished  with  me.

The doctors  finally  agreed  to  keep  me  on life  support,  though  they  told  her privately  that  it  was  feudal.

The  brain damage  from  oxygen  deprivation  would  be catastrophic,  even  if  my  heart  did restart.

For  three  days,  I  lay  there technically  dead.

Nurses  checked  on  me out  of  protocol,  but  they’d  given  up hope.

And  then  on  the  evening  of  the third  day,  my  heart  just  started.

No warning.

No  medical  intervention  at  that moment.

The  monitor  that  had  been flatlined  for  72  hours  suddenly  showed  a rhythm.

Slow  at  first,  then  stronger.

The  medical  team  couldn’t  explain  it.

They  ran  every  test  imaginable.

My  heart  showed  evidence  of  severe damage,  but  it  was  functioning.

My  brain  showed  some  oxygen  deprivation, but  nothing  that  would  explain unconsciousness  for  3  days.

It  violated everything  they  knew  about  cardiac medicine.

They  called  it  a  miracle.

They had  no  idea  how  right  they  were.

I  woke  up  fully  5  days  after  my  return.

The  tube  had  been  removed  from  my throat.

The  heavy  sedation  had  been lifted.

My  eyes  opened  and  the  first face  I  saw  was  Fatimus.

She  looked terrible.

Beautiful  but  terrible.

Eyes red  from  crying.

Face  drawn  from  lack  of sleep.

But  when  she  saw  me  looking  at her,  really  looking  at  her,  conscious and  aware,  she  burst  into  tears.

Abdul Aziz,  she  sobbed.

You  came  back.

You came  back  to  me.

I  tried  to  speak,  but my  voice  was  a  croak.

I  I  need  water.

She  gave  me  ice  chips,  and  gradually  my voice  returned.

Over  the  next  hours,  she told  me  everything.

How  the  community had  rallied  around  us.

How  thousands  had prayed  for  me.

How  the  imams  from  across Riad  had  visited.

how  our  children, three  daughters  and  two  sons,  all  adults now  with  families  of  their  own,  had maintained  a  vigil.

But  she  also  told  me something  else.

Something  that  made  my blood  run  cold.

“The  Council  of  Scholars wants  to  meet  with  you,”  she  said quietly.

“As  soon  as  you’re  able.

They want  to  hear  about  your  experience.

They’re  saying  it’s  a  sign,  a  blessing from  Allah.

They  want  to  use  your  story to  inspire  the  faithful.

I  knew  what  that  meant.

They  wanted  to control  the  narrative.

They  wanted  me  to say  the  right  things,  to  confirm  their theology,  to  be  a  living  example  of Islamic  faith  triumphant  over  death.

They  had  no  idea  what  I’d  actually experienced.

And  when  I  told  them,  the doctors  kept  me  in  the  hospital  for  two more  weeks.

physical  therapy  to  rebuild my  strength  and  a  neurological  tests  to assess  brain  function.

Psychological evaluation  to  make  sure  I  was  mentally stable.

That  last  one  was  ironic.

How  do you  tell  a  psychiatrist  that  you  met Jesus,  saw  the  end  of  the  world,  and have  been  given  a  prophetic  warning? They’d  declare  you  insane  immediately.

So,  I  was  careful.

I  told  him  I  had fragmented  memories,  strange  dreams, nothing  conclusive.

The  psychiatrist noted  possible  hallucinations  associated with  an  oxic  brain  injury,  but ultimately  cleared  me.

My  body  recovered faster  than  the  doctors  expected.

By  the  third  week,  I  could  walk  unaded.

By  the  fourth  week,  I  was  ready  to  go home.

But  the  memories,  the  memories  were coming  back  in  waves  just  as  Jesus  said they  would.

I’d  be  eating  breakfast  and suddenly  I’d  remember  a  specific  detail from  the  vision.

I  I’d  be  praying,  still praying  Muslim  prayers  out  of  habit.

And I’d  be  overwhelmed  with  the  memory  of his  embrace.

I’d  be  listening  to  my family  talk.

And  I’d  remember  the  date, February  26th,  2026.

It  burned  in  my  mind  less  than  two  years away  and  I  had  to  warn  people.

But  how how  do  you  tell  a  Muslim  community  that their  imam  met  Jesus  and  was  told  that Islam  is  insufficient? How  do  you  tell  people  that  the  end  of the  world  is  about  to  begin  and  they need  to  convert  to  Christianity  to survive? You  don’t.

Not  directly.

Not  all  at once.

I  started  slowly.

When  I  finally returned  to  the  mosque  8  weeks  after  my collapse,  the  congregation  gave  me  a standing  ovation.

They  saw  me  as  a living  miracle,  proof  of  God’s  power.

The  other  imams  embraced  me.

The  council of  scholars  presented  me  with  an  award.

And  in  my  first  sermon  back,  I  spoke about  my  experience,  but  carefully,  very carefully.

Brothers,  I  said  I  died.

I  left  this world  for  a  time.

And  what  I  saw  on  the other  side,  it  has  changed  me.

I  cannot speak  of  all  of  it.

Much  of  it  is  beyond words,  beyond  human  understanding.

But  I  can  tell  you  this.

We  have  less time  than  we  think.

The  end  of  this  age is  approaching,  and  we  must  prepare  our souls.

The  congregation  nodded.

They thought  I  was  speaking  about  standard Islamic  esquetology, the  day  of  judgment,  the  coming  of  Mati, the  return  of  Issa  to  break  the  cross and  kill  the  dal.

They  didn’t  know  I  was  speaking  about something  very  different.

Over  the  next months,  I  continued  this  careful  dance.

I  spoke  more  about  mercy  and  grace,  less about  law  and  punishment.

I  emphasized personal  relationship  with  God  over ritual  performance.

I  talked  about  the importance  of  knowing  truth  versus following  tradition.

Some  people  noticed the  shift.

My  fellow  imams  questioned  me privately.

You’re  sounding  almost  Christian,  one  of them  said  with  concern.

Am  I?  I  replied.

or  am  I  finally  understanding  what submission  to  God  truly  means?  But  I knew  I  couldn’t  keep  this  up  forever.

Eventually,  I’d  have  to  speak  plainly.

Eventually,  I’d  have  to  tell  them  about Jesus,  about  the  warning,  about  February 26th,  2026.

That  day  came  in  October  2024,  6  months after  my  return  from  death.

The  Council of  Scholars  called  a  special  meeting.

Just  them  and  me.

Seven  of  the  most respected  Islamic  scholars  in  Saudi Arabia,  sitting  in  a  semicircle  with  me standing  in  the  center  like  a  defendant on  trial.

Abdul  Aziz,  the  head  scholar, began.

We’ve  been  patient  with  you.

We understand  that  your  experience  was traumatic,  that  it  may  have  affected your  mind,  but  your  recent  sermons  have become  concerning.

You’re  straying  from orthodox  teaching.

People  are  noticing.

Questions  are  being  asked.

I  took  a  deep  breath.

This  was  it.

The moment  of  truth.

I  could  backpedal, apologize,  fall  back  in  line,  or  I  could speak  what  I  knew  to  be  true  and  face the  consequences.

I  chose  truth.

Brothers,  I  said,  I  need  to  tell  you what  really  happened  during  those  72 hours.

I  need  to  tell  you  who  I  met  and what  he  showed  me.

They  leaned  forward, expecting  a  vision  of  paradise,  of Muhammad,  of  angels.

Instead,  I  told  them  about  Jesus.

I  told them  about  the  fog,  the  waiting  place, the  shadow  creature.

I  told  them  about the  light,  about  the  man  with  scars  in his  hands.

I  told  them  about  the  vision of  the  end,  about  February  26th,  2026.

I  told  them  about  the  Antichrist,  about the  mark,  about  the  tribulation.

And  I  told  them  what  Jesus  said,  that  he is  the  only  way  to  the  father.

That Islam  for  all  its  beauty  and  devotion  is insufficient.

that  salvation  comes  through  faith  in his  sacrifice,  not  through  good  works  or religious  observance.

The  room  was silent  when  I  finished.

You  could  have heard  a  pin  drop.

Then  the  head  scholar spoke,  his  voice  trembling  with  rage.

You  are  apostate.

You  have  left  Islam.

You  have  blasphemed  against  Allah  and his  prophet  Muhammad.

Do  you  understand what  this  means?  I  understand  perfectly.

I  said,  “And  I’m  telling  you  anyway because  the  truth  matters  more  than  my comfort  or  safety.

You’ll  be  stripped  of your  position.

Your  family  will  be shamed.

You  may  face  legal  consequences.

Apostasy  is  still  a  serious  crime  in this  country.

”  I  know.

Then  why?  Why throw  away  everything  for  this  this Christian  delusion?  Because  it’s  not  a delusion,  I  almost  shouted.

Because  I was  there.

I  saw  him.

I  felt  his presence.

I  heard  his  voice.

And everything  he  told  me  is  coming  true.

Don’t  you  see?  We  have  less  than  2  years before  February  26th,  2026.

Less  than  2  years  before  the  world changes  forever.

And  people  need  to know.

They  need  to  choose.

They  need  to enough.

The  head  scholar  stood.

You  are no  longer  an  imam  of  this  mosque.

You are  no  longer  a  teacher  of  Islam.

You are  no  longer  welcome  in  our  community.

Pack  your  things  and  leave.

And  if  you continue  to  spread  this  heresy,  we  will take  further  action.

I  looked  at  each  of  them.

Men  I’d  known for  decades.

Men  I’d  prayed  beside, studied  with,  laughed  with,  and  I  saw  no compassion  in  their  eyes.

only  anger  and  fear.

Fear.

That’s  what it  was.

They  were  afraid  I  might  be telling  the  truth.

I  walked  out  of  that room  and  out  of  the  mosque  I’d  served for  32  years.

I  walked  out  of  my  office, passed  my  books  and  awards  and photographs.

I  walked  out  into  the  Saudi sun,  unemployed,  disgraced,  and  branded a  heretic.

and  I  felt  lighter  than  I’d felt  in  decades.

The  next  months  were hard,  brutally  hard.

My  family  struggled to  understand.

Fatima  stood  by  me.

Bless her,  she  stood  by  me,  even  though  she didn’t  fully  believe  my  story.

Our children  were  divided.

Two  of  them  cut off  contact  entirely.

The  other  three maintained  relationship  but  kept  their distance,  not  wanting  to  be  associated with  my  breakdown.

I  was  barred  from  every  mosque  in  Riad.

Friends  stopped  calling.

People  crossed the  street  to  avoid  me.

I  received  death threats.

My  wife  received  threats.

Someone  painted  apostate  on  our  door  in red  paint.

But  I  kept  speaking.

I started  a  blog,  recording  videos, posting  on  social  media.

I  told  my story.

I  gave  the  warning  about  February 26th,  2026.

I  urged  people  to  research  Jesus  for themselves,  to  read  the  Gospels,  to consider  whether  what  they’d  been  taught about  him  was  actually  true.

Most  people mocked  me,  but  some,  a  precious  few, listened.

A  young  man  named  Khaled reached  out.

He’d  been  questioning  Islam for  years,  but  was  afraid  to  voice  his doubts.

My  story  gave  him  courage.

He gave  his  life  to  Jesus,  and  despite  his family’s  fury,  he  stood  firm.

A  woman named  Amamira,  a  widow  with  three children,  contacted  me.

She’d  had  her own  supernatural  experience  years  ago, but  had  suppressed  it  out  of  fear.

My testimony  confirmed  what  she’d  always suspected  deep  down.

She  became  a  believer.

Slowly, gradually,  a  small  community  formed.

Ex-Muslims, questioning  Muslims,  secret  Christians.

We  met  in  homes,  in  private.

We  studied the  Bible  together.

We  prayed  together.

We  prepared  together  for  what  was coming.

And  as  2025  progressed,  the signs  Jesus  told  me  about  began  to appear.

In  September  2025,  there  was  an assassination  attempt  on  the  president of  the  United  States.

He  was  giving  a speech  in  Texas  when  a  shooter  opened fire.

The  bullet  grazed  his  head millimeters  from  being  fatal.

He survived.

The  country  erupted  in  conspiracy theories  and  political  chaos.

Though  I remembered  what  Jesus  told  me.

A  major assassination  attempt  on  a  world  leader that  barely  fails.

In  November  2025,  something  impossible happened.

Israel,  Saudi  Arabia,  and Turkey  announced  a  joint  economic  and security  alliance.

These  three  nations,  historic  enemies, religious  rivals,  geopolitical competitors,  suddenly  united.

The  media called  it  historic.

Experts  called  it shocking.

I  called  it  another  sign.

In December  2025,  a  tech  company  announced a  breakthrough  in  quantum  computing  that would  revolutionize  encryption, artificial  intelligence,  and  data processing.

They  promised  it  would  usher in  a  new  era  of  technological  progress.

Governments  immediately  began implementing  the  technology  into  their surveillance  systems.

A  Jesus’s  words echoed,  “A  technological  breakthrough  in quantum  computing  that  will  enable complete  surveillance  and  control.

” In  January  2026,  Pope  Francis  made  an announcement  that  sent  shock  waves through  the  Christian  world.

He  called for  full  unity  among  all  faiths, Christians,  Muslims,  Jews,  Hindus, Buddhists,  under  one  spiritual  banner.

He  said  the  time  for  religious  division was  over,  that  humanity  needed  to  unite spiritually  to  face  the  challenges ahead.

Traditional  Catholics  were  outraged.

Progressive  Catholics  celebrated.

And  I  remembered the  Vatican  will  make  an  announcement about  interfaith  unity  that  will  shock traditional  Catholics.

The  natural  disasters  increase  too.

Earthquakes  in  places  that  rarely  had them.

Hurricanes  stronger  than  any  in recorded  history.

Floods  that  devastated  entire  regions.

See  heat  waves  that  killed  thousands.

Cold  snaps  that  froze  areas  that  should have  been  temperate.

The  mainstream media  blamed  climate  change.

Alternative media  blamed  weather  modification.

Both  were  partially  right.

But  what nobody  was  saying  publicly  was  that  many of  these  disasters  were  timed,  targeted, and  deliberate.

Part  of  a  larger  agenda to  create  chaos  and  demand  for  order.

And  then  came  February  2026, the  final  countdown.

On  February  5th, exactly  3  weeks  before  the  26th,  the World  Economic  Forum  held  an  emergency summit  in  Davos,  Switzerland.

Leaders from  every  major  nation  attended.

CEOs of  the  largest  corporations,  heads  of central  banks,  tech  moguls,  media executives.

The  official  agenda  was  about  global financial  reform  in  response  to  recent crisis.

But  those  of  us  who  were  paying attention  knew  better.

But  this  was  the meeting  Jesus  warned  me  about.

This  was where  the  infrastructure  for  the  beast system  would  be  finalized.

I  watched  the live  streams.

I  read  the  statements.

I analyzed  the  proposals.

And  everything was  there.

A  new  global  digital  currency backed  by  a  consortium  of  central  banks and  major  governments.

They  called  it  the  world  credit  and promised  it  would  stabilize  markets, prevent  fraud,  and  make  transactions seamless.

A  universal  identification  system  linked to  biometric  data,  fingerprints,  facial recognition,  DNA.

They  said  it  would  eliminate  identity theft,  and  make  international  travel effortless.

a  social  credit  system  modeled  on  the Chinese  system  but  improved  and  fair.

They  said  it  would  reward  good citizenship  and  discourage  antisocial behavior.

And  the  lynch  pin  that  would tie  it  all  together,  a  small  chip,  I’m implantable  under  the  skin  that  would serve  as  your  ID,  your  wallet,  your passport,  your  medical  record.

They called  it  the  Unity  Chip  and  showed videos  of  happy  families  using  it  to shop,  travel,  and  access  services.

It was  sleek.

It  was  convenient.

It  was  the future.

It  was  the  infrastructure  for the  mark  of  the  beast.

The  summit  ended on  February  8th.

The  attending  leaders promised  to  begin  implementation  of these  systems  in  their  respective countries  within  months.

Some  they  said  would  roll  out  as  early as  spring  2026.

February  26th  was  18  days  away.

I  knew what  was  coming.

I’d  seen  it.

On February  26th,  the  world  as  we  knew  it would  end.

The  transition  period  would begin.

The  beast  system  would  start  to manifest.

The  Antichrist  would  rise  from the  chaos.

And  I  had  18  days  to  warn  as many  people  as  possible.

I  made  this video.

This  testimony  you’re  hearing right  now.

I’ve  held  nothing  back.

I’ve told  you  everything.

My  death,  my encounter  with  Jesus,  the  vision  of  the end,  the  specific  signs,  the  date.

February  26th,  2026.

If  you’re  hearing  this  before  that  date, you  still  have  time  to  prepare.

If you’re  hearing  it  after,  you’re  living in  the  new  reality  and  you  need  to  make a  choice  and  fast.

Let  me  speak  to  you directly  now.

Not  as  an  imam.

I’m  not that  anymore.

Not  as  a  scholar.

My degrees  and  credentials  were  stripped from  me.

But  as  a  man  who  died,  met Jesus,  and  came  back  to  warn  you.

You have  a  choice  to  make.

The  most important  choice  of  your  life.

may  be the  most  important  choice  in  human history.

The  world  is  about  to  change  in ways  that  will  terrify  you.

Economic collapse,  natural  disasters, political  upheaval,  the  rise  of  a charismatic  leader  who  promises  to  fix everything,  the  implementation  of systems  that  will  control  every  aspect of  your  life.

In  that  chaos,  you’ll  be tempted  to  accept  the  easy  path.

Take the  chip.

Join  the  new  system.

Embrace the  unity.

Bow  to  the  new  order.

Because if  you  don’t,  you’ll  be  cast  out.

You won’t  be  able  to  buy  food.

You  won’t  be able  to  work.

You  won’t  have  access  to healthcare.

Your  children  will  suffer.

The  pressure  will  be  immense.

The  fear will  be  overwhelming.

And  most  people will  cave.

But  here’s  what  I  need  you  to understand.

That  chip,  that  mark,  that system.

It’s  not  just  economic,  it’s spiritual.

Taking  it  means  pledging allegiance  to  the  beast.

Taking  it  means rejecting  Jesus.

Taking  it  means  separating  yourself  from God  forever.

And  once  it’s  done,  it can’t  be  undone.

So,  what  do  you  do instead?  How  do  you  survive?  How  do  you resist?  First,  give  your  life  to  Jesus now.

Today,  not  tomorrow,  not  when things  get  worse.

Now,  because  once  the mark  is  implemented,  once  the  beast fully  rises,  the  grace  period  will  end.

The  Bible  is  clear.

Those  who  take  the mark  cannot  be  saved.

They’ve  made  their choice.

It’s  final.

If  you’re  Muslim like  I  was,  I  know  this  is  hard.

I  know it  feels  like  betrayal.

I  know  it contradicts  everything  you’ve  been taught.

But  I’m  telling  you,  as  someone who  served  Islam  for  32  years  and  then met  Jesus  face  to  face,  he  is  real.

He is  risen.

He  is  the  only  way  to  the father.

Your  good  deeds  won’t  save  you.

Your  prayers  won’t  save  you.

your fasting,  your  charity,  your  pilgrimage, they’re  beautiful,  but  they’re insufficient  because  the  gap  between humanity  and  God  is  too  wide  to  cross  on our  own.

Jesus  is  the  bridge.

His sacrifice  paid  the  price.

His resurrection  proved  his  divinity.

Accept him.

Confess  with  your  mouth  that  Jesus is  Lord.

Believe  in  your  heart  that  God raised  him  from  the  dead.

Romans  10:9.

That’s  the  key.

That’s salvation.

Second,  prepare  practically.

I  don’t mean  stockpile  weapons  and  build  a bunker.

Though  having  some  emergency supplies  isn’t  crazy.

I  mean  prepare your  heart,  your  mind,  your  family.

Study  the  Bible.

Specifically,  study Revelation,  Daniel,  Matthew  24,  1 Thessalonians.

Understand  what’s  coming  so  you  won’t  be caught  off  guard.

Find  community,  other believers,  people  who  know  the  truth  and are  willing  to  stand  firm.

You  can’t  do this  alone.

None  of  us  can.

We  need  each other.

Be  ready  to  lose  everything.

your job,  your  home  to  your  reputation,  maybe even  your  life.

Jesus  promised  that following  him  would  cost  us.

In  the tribulation,  it  will  cost  more  than ever.

Count  the  cost.

Decide  now  that he’s  worth  it.

Third,  don’t  take  the mark.

No  matter  what,  no  matter  the consequences,  no matter  how  much  you suffer,  don’t  take  it.

Yes,  you’ll  be persecuted.

Yes,  you’ll  struggle.

Yes, you  might  die.

But  physical  death  is temporary.

Spiritual  death  is  eternal.

Better  to  lose  your  physical  life  and gain  eternal  life  than  to  save  your physical  life  and  lose  your  soul forever.

Fourth,  spread  the  word.

Tell everyone  you  can.

You  might  feel foolish.

People  might  mock  you.

They might  call  you  crazy,  deluded,  a conspiracy  theorist.

Tell  them  anyway because  when  February  26th,  2026  comes, and  it  will  come,  and  the  world  starts to  unravel  exactly  as  predicted.

And some  of  those  people  will  remember.

They’ll  remember  that  you  warned  them.

They’ll  remember  that  you  told  them about  Jesus.

And  they  might  turn  to  him while  there’s  still  time.

I’m  recording this  on  February  8th,  2026, 18  days  before  the  date  Jesus  showed  me.

I  don’t  know  exactly  what  will  happen  on the  26th.

I  don’t  know  if  it  will  be  one event  or  multiple  events.

I  don’t  know if  it  will  be  sudden  and  obvious  or gradual  and  subtle.

But  I  know  it’s coming.

I  know  the  tribulation  is beginning.

I  know  that  the  window  of grace  is  closing.

If  you’re  hearing  this before  February  26th,  you  have  a  few days.

Use  them.

Get  right  with  God.

Get your  family  right  with  God.

Prepare  your heart.

If  you’re  hearing  this  after February  26th  and  the  world  has  indeed changed  as  I’ve  described,  you  know this,  it’s  not  too  late  yet.

Not  until you  take  the  mark.

Until  then,  you  can still  turn  to  Jesus.

It  will  be  harder.

The  cost  will  be  higher.

The  suffering will  be  greater.

But  salvation  is  still available.

And  if  you’re  hearing  this years  from  now  after  everything  I’ve described  has  come  and  gone,  if  Jesus has  already  returned  and  established  his kingdom,  then  this  video  serves  as testimony.

Proof  that  he  warned  us,  proof  that  he loved  us  enough  to  send  messengers, proof  that  he  gave  every  possible  chance for  people  to  turn  to  him.

To  my  family, I  love  you.

I  know  you  don’t  understand.

I  know  you  think  I’ve  lost  my  mind.

I know  I’ve  embarrassed  you.

But  I’m  doing this  because  I  love  you.

Please,  please hear  my  words.

Please  consider  that  I might  be  telling  the  truth.

Please  don’t take  the  mark  when  it  comes.

Please  turn to  Jesus.

I  want  to  see  you  again  in eternity.

To  my  fellow  Muslims,  I  don’t  hate Islam.

I  don’t  hate  you.

I  spent  most  of my  life  as  one  of  you.

I  understand  the beauty  you  see  in  Islamic  teaching.

I understand  the  devotion  you  feel.

But I’m  begging  you  to  investigate  Jesus  for yourself.

Read  the  Gospels.

Ask  him  to reveal  himself  to  you.

He  did  for  me.

He can  for  you,  too.

To  Christians  who  hear this,  get  ready.

The  comfortable  version of  Christianity  you’ve  known  is  ending.

Persecution  is  coming.

Tribulation  is coming.

But  so  is  glory.

So  is  the return  of  our  king.

Stand  firm.

Don’t compromise.

Don’t  take  the  mark.

And help  others  who  are  waking  up  to  the truth.

To  those  who  don’t  believe  in  any of  this.

I  understand  your  skepticism.

I  really  do.

But  I’m  asking  you  to  at least  watch.

Watch  what  happens  on February  26th.

at  2026  and  in  the  days and  months  that  follow.

Watch  whether the  things  I’ve  described  start  to manifest.

And  if  they  do,  remember  this warning.

Remember  that  someone  told  you what  was  coming  and  why.

And  remember that  Jesus  offers  a  way  out.

My  name  is Abdulaziz  al-Mansuri.

I  was  a  Muslim  imam  for  32  years.

I  died on  April  23rd,  2024  during  Towi  prayers on  the  holiest  night  of  Ramadan.

For  72 hours,  I  was  clinically  dead.

And  during that  time,  I  met  Jesus  Christ.

He  showed me  the  end  of  this  age.

He  gave  me  a date,  February  26th,  2026.

He  told  me  to  warn  people.

He  told  me  to tell  them  about  salvation  through  him alone.

This  is  my  testimony.

This  is  my warning.

This  is  my  last  chance  to  reach as  many  people  as  possible  before  time runs  out.

Jesus  is  real.

He  is  risen.

He is  coming  back  soon.

And  he  loves  you more  than  you  can  possibly  imagine.

Turn to  him.

Trust  him.

Follow  him  no  matter the  cost.

Because  eternity  is  real.

Heaven  is  real.

Hell  is  real  and  the choice  you  make  in  the  next  days,  weeks, or  months  will  determine  where  you  spend forever.

Choose  life.

Choose  Jesus.

Choose  eternal  salvation  over  temporary comfort.

The  clock  is  ticking.

February 26th  is  coming.

Don’t  say  you  weren’t warned.