45 minutes ago, the film world was shocked by the terrible news: the private plane carrying Sylvester Stallone – the “immortal hero” of Hollywood – disappeared from radar just minutes after leaving Rome, heading to Los Angeles. The last signal ended at an altitude of 10,500 meters, then disappeared from the cold screen of the air traffic control tower. Just a few minutes later, the

international rescue team confirmed that they found the plane’s wreckage scattered in the Atlantic Ocean.

The scene was hauntingly creepy. Pieces of burnt metal wings, broken seats, luggage floating in the raging waves, mixed with the strong smell of oil spill. Rescue helicopters hovered in the sky, rubber boats of the Italian navy cut through the waves in despair. A captain of a cargo ship passing through the sea recounted: “We heard a loud explosion, then a flash of light like a fireball in the sky. It all happened in just a few seconds.”

The terrible news spread around the world. Paparazzi crowded outside Fiumicino airport, flashbulbs flashing as thousands of fans burst into tears, many screaming in disbelief. Police had to set up barricades to block the panicking crowd. A double incident occurred when part of the temporary roof collapsed under the pressure, injuring six fans, blood staining the marble floor.

At sea, paramedics continued to try desperately. They dragged motionless bodies onto boats, covered them with white sheets, placed oxygen masks and repeatedly shocked them – as if clinging to a fragile hope. But each monitor on the rescue ship only showed a blank line. A doctor cried: “Sylvester Stallone could not return.”

That night, the Naples military hospital was lit up, the ICU was lit all night just to complete the final procedures. The forensic report confirmed that Stallone died from multiple injuries in the fuselage explosion. His family – wife Jennifer Flavin and three children – cried in despair. “He was not only our father, our husband, but also our mountain. Now that mountain has fallen,” Flavin said in a tearful statement.

The global reaction was explosive. #PrayForStallone, #GoodbyeRocky, #LegendForever flooded social media. Arnold Schwarzenegger wrote: “I lost a brother. Hollywood lost a warrior.” The US president sent a special statement, praising Stallone as “a global cultural icon, a timeless inspiration.” In New York’s Times Square, a giant LED screen displayed the words: “Sylvester Stallone 1946–2025 – Never Forgotten.”

In Philadelphia – Rocky Balboa’s hometown – tens of thousands gathered in front of the famous museum steps, where the statue of Rocky stood tall. Candles stretched out, and fans chanted: “Adrian! Adrian!” in a tragic farewell. In Los Angeles, cinemas simultaneously turned off the lights two minutes before each show, the audience stood up and applauded, many unable to hold back tears.

The mournful climax ended when Stallone’s coffin, draped in the American flag and covered in white flowers, was brought back by military plane. As the funeral procession rolled through the streets of Rome, thousands of people knelt, holding candles in the drizzle. The sky was gray, the waves were pounding, as if nature itself was choking with grief.

Sylvester Stallone – the man who turned “Rocky” into a legend, “Rambo” into an icon, and brought indomitable faith to millions of people – ended his journey in an explosion off the Atlantic. But his legacy will live forever, like an eternal flame in the hearts of audiences around the world.