Felicity's Beast World Apocalypse-Chapter 78: Daddy?

His team noticed.

"Oh," Marx of them murmured.

"Well," Legend said dryly, "that explains the vibe."

"You’re doomed," Sam added with a grin. "Completely."

Ivan did not deny it.

He watched Felicity tuck the paper flower behind her ear. She beamed like the world had not ended, like there were not corpses rotting in the streets and commanders still consolidating power in broken cities, Like nothing could touch her while she was held between monsters who loved her.

He made his vow then.

Silent.

Absolute.

If anyone tried to hurt her again, he would not simply kill them. He would erase the idea that they had ever existed.

A distant groan rolled through the building. Not human.

All heads lifted instantly.

Three dead filtered in through the blown-out lobby doors, drawn by scent and residual sound. They were slow. Rotting. But they were still moving.

Victor did not rise.

He did not need to.

Damien unfolded.

It was not dramatic. It was efficient.

He crossed the distance in a blur. Fangs flashed. Venom pulsed. One corpse dropped before it understood it had been touched. The second tried to lunge and lost its head. The third never reached the divider before Voss stepped in and crushed its skull under his boot.

Silence returned just as quickly.

Frost stared in awe. "Dad is scary."

Damien glanced back mildly. "Correct."

Felicity did not apologize for attracting them.

She simply watched, breathing steady.

Later, when they moved again, Ivan walked closer.

Felicity noticed.

She always did.

She leaned slightly toward him as the ground dipped, fingers catching in his sleeve for balance. He steadied her without comment, hand firm at her elbow.

"What do I call you?" he asked suddenly, testing the question like a blade edge.

She blinked up at him. "What?"

"A nickname," he said. "Felicity feels... formal."

She considered it for a moment, sunlight catching in her hair.

"Fel," she offered. "Or Fox. But only if you’re being nice."

He nodded once.

"Okay," he said. "Little sun."

She smiled at that. It fit too well.

The road stretched ahead, empty and wide and watched.

Frost trotted close, eyes bright. "I feel indestructible," he announced.

Victor smiled without looking down. "That’s because you are. Right now."

Felicity hummed faintly, embarrassed. "I’m not doing anything."

Ivan glanced at her.

"You don’t have to," he said.

She did not argue.

They moved on.

Behind them, broken buildings leaned inward like witnesses. Somewhere in the distance, something howled and then went abruptly silent.

The city followed with its eyes.

And somewhere deep in its rotting spine, something began to understand that the Light was not fragile.

It was protected.

They didn’t march.

That was the first thing Victor noticed.

The hundreds of beastmen who filtered out behind them didn’t move like a caravan or an army. They followed at a distance like a living tide that refused to touch shore, keeping space, keeping sight.

Free didn’t mean safe.

It just meant moving.

Snow Team hadn’t taken charge of them. That was never the deal. They had broken chains, shattered containment, burned cages out of the world.

Survival was still a choice.

And yet.

They followed.

Victor glanced back once from the cracked highway rise. The road behind them was cluttered with makeshift signs already hammered into asphalt and dirt. Painted arrows. Scraps of fabric tied to bent street poles. Symbols scratched into concrete with blades.

VINEYARD →

SAFE WATER

KEEP MOVING

DON’T RUN AT NIGHT

Markers Snow Team left as naturally as breathing.

For stragglers.

For the wounded.

For anyone dodging zombies, bandits, mutants, feral beasts, or worse.

The world was ugly.

But it was learning.

Felicity walked near the front today, jacket tied at her waist, hair braided loose down her back. She kept glancing over her shoulder, worry flickering every time someone stumbled or fell behind.

"They’re really following," she murmured.

Victor didn’t answer right away.

Ivan did.

"They’re choosing," he said calmly. "That matters."

She nodded, lips pressed together, then relaxed when she saw two older beastmen help a limping third onto a salvaged cart. Small things. Self organising. Human. Beast.

Hope was a dangerous contagion.

Victor slowed until he was walking beside Ivan.

"Fight me."

Ivan blinked. Once.

"...What?"

Victor didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t bare teeth. Just angled slightly into Ivan’s space, wings shifting with intent.

"I want to know what you are," Victor said. "Not what you promise. Not what you feel. What you hold when something pushes back."

The road quieted.

Snow Team didn’t intervene. They never did when Victor used that tone.

Ivan considered him. Really looked.

Then nodded once. "Okay."

They cleared the road without ceremony. No cheering. No betting. Just space. Victor shrugged off his jacket and folded his wings tight, power bleeding off him in a visible frost-haze. Ivan rolled his shoulders, calm as still water.

Felicity’s hands twisted together.

"Please don’t die," she blurted.

Both men paused.

Ivan turned his head slightly. "Not today, little sun"

Victor huffed a breath that might have been a laugh.

They moved.

It wasn’t flashy.

No grand explosions. No killing intent. Just pressure. Speed. Control. Victor tested boundaries like a storm probing a coastline. Ivan absorbed, redirected, grounded. Fire met stone. Ice scraped against resolve.

Victor went harder.

Ivan held.

When Victor finally disengaged, chest rising, frost steaming off his skin, he looked... satisfied.

"You don’t break," Victor said.

Ivan wiped blood from his lip with his thumb.

They nodded at each other.

It was done.

Felicity exhaled so hard she almost dizzy-laughed. "That was amazing!"

She clapped once.

Twice.

Then, without thinking, bright and relieved and utterly unguarded.

"Good job, Daddy—!"

Silence fell like a dropped plate.

The road froze.

Snow Team stared.

Someone sniffed.

Someone else choked.

Pope slowly clasped his hands. "Oh," he breathed. "Now our goddess has chosen a patriarch."

Ash scribbled furiously on a scrap of cardboard. "WRITE THAT DOWN."

Kai squinted. "Is this a branching theology or a hierarchy?"

Sam nodded along solemnly. "It feels... ordained."

Victor growled.

Low.

Deep.

Immediate.

Ivan stood perfectly still.

Felicity went scarlet.

"I— I DIDN’T— I MEANT—" She slapped both hands over her face. "I’m so sorry I didn’t—"

Voss crossed his arms and pouted. "I carry you over rubble."

Damien’s tail flicked irritably. "I bled."

"...Why doesn’t she call us daddy?" Voss added.

Felicity made a noise like a dying kettle.

Luna popped up beside Ivan’s leg. "He’s already a dad," she declared. "We picked!"

Frost nodded. "That’s science."

Victor dragged a hand down his face. "I am surrounded by idiots."

Ivan cleared his throat. "For the record," he said carefully, "I did not request that title."

Felicity peeked through her fingers. "Never again. I swear. Please don’t throw me into the road."

Victor leaned down and kissed her forehead instead. "You’re safe."

She melted instantly.

Victor let the laughter bleed out behind them, called the husbands to circle up, and then, efficiently as breathing, swept Felicity into the collapsing, overgrown husk of a gas station.

One pop of static and the world rolled and blurred around them their shelter: a battered but still-miraculous pocket space fractured perfectly out of the real.

It still looked like a lopsided porcelain dollhouse, with spackled walls and mismatched thrift shop furniture.

There was the ever-burning fireplace (their kindling of choice: academic journals, raided from the mutant-haunted libraries), immediately dampening winter chill. And the couch, as always, too small for Victor’s wings, too plush for anyone’s dignity.

Voss and Damien were already perched on it, crowding the armrests, their boots wet and their faces tense with that post-fight adrenaline flicker.

Victor barely dropped his own coat before setting Felicity, flushed and breathless, at the heart of the room. She looked up at him, still a little dazed from the world jump, and only then noticed Ivan standing so close, hands slightly out, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed.

Victor’s voice was a low rumble. "You don’t get to scare us like that again."

Voss rolled his scarred jaw, teeth bared, and Damien licked his lips, wry. Ivan’s eyes never left Felicity.

She tried to step away, indignant, but Victor caught her wrist. "Sit," he said, and she did, drawn by reflex to the upholstered ottoman in front of the hearth.

Victor planted himself in the middle of the trio, arms folding, and Voss slid down to the carpet so close to her knees she could see every pulse in his throat.

Ivan lingered at the back of the room, only to be summoned by an imperious jerk of Victor’s chin. Victor was smiling, but it was a dangerous smile, the kind that made windows rattle.

"You were gone. You know what happens when you disappear now."

Brief hesitation, then Felicity blinked. "...What?"

He drew a slow, patient line of a finger up from her bare wrist to her elbow. "We were worried," he said, quiet but heavy. "That is unacceptable."

Voss leaned in, voice sweet as venom. "Very reckless, little goddess."

"Very neglectful," Damien added. "We were so lonely."

Ivan, always careful, went to Felicity’s side and placed a warm hand at her shoulder. He just looked at her, the way winter stars look at tundra: unwavering, impossible to ignore.