My take on the Apocalypse is pretty simple: the end of the world is not the end of the world.
Every day the world ends for someone. Lives are shattered, homes are destroyed, institutions in which we placed faith and hope are corrupted, governments totter and fall. Wars come and leave behind scarred people, ruined cities, landscapes seeded with unexploded ordinance.
And life goes on. Every day someone wakes up and realizes he is still alive. Every day someone wakes up and realizes that despite the grief, despite the horror, that she can still get back on her feet and do something to help. Every day, people throw off the guilt and the shame of surviving the end, and accept that every end–even the darkest hour of the most painful end–is a new beginning for something. And that they ALWAYS have the option of trying to make it something good.
I do write post-Apocalyptic fiction. Technically the SotSverse is a post-Apocalyptic universe for nearly every star-faring race. The Humans nearly destroyed themselves with their short-sightedness and mutual aggression. The Hivers lost their Queen and their future and descended into bloody Interregnum. The Tarkas lost their entire empire–literally, physically, misplaced a dozen star systems that vanished from local space time. The Liir lost their innocence and had to give up parts of their culture which were sacred to them. The Morrigi lost their pride and had to see their worlds and monuments burn.
The Horde Zuul had to give up their freedom and serve those greater themselves forever. And the Prester Zuul…the Prester Zuul had to give up their gods, and devote themselves to the service of those weaker.
It was the end of the world.
But the end of the world is sometimes just the backstory.