Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Six years. Four weeks.

It has been six years since the apocalypse started, four weeks since the settlement started to run out of food. Hungry children and even hungrier adults roamed the place, begging for just a little more food to ease their stomachs. Parents being forced to leave the settlement with expedition teams to try and find a way to fix the food shortage, either by scavenging or making deals with the only other settlement in the city.

Honestly, Phil is surprised it took this long in the first place considering there are multiple families and adults with different needs. The settlement has been holding up strong for well over five years, the food was going to go short eventually, if not because of the population than because of the lack of natural sun.

He’s honestly impressed by how things have gone…

…Doesn’t mean he’s not angry that Etoiles and Fit sent his wife and husband over to Soulfyre without talking to him first.

Just because he is out scavenging doesn’t mean he’ll let them do what they want with his lovers, he might as well leave to find them himself!

So here he is, about to go on yet another expedition with whatever team he was placed with. He can’t be bothered to remember the names of the members, but for some reason Etoiles and Fit were there. The team he’s been put with doesn’t seem to care. They looked pretty much done with going in and out of the settlement, Phil agrees with them on that front. Zombies often hoarded the streets; it would be easier to just stay inside and make sure the kids live.

Nothing wrong with a little sacrifice.

(The Kristin side of his brain disapproves of those kinds of thoughts, the Missa side agrees with his logic, but also agrees with Kristin.)

Regardless, they head to the exit and out to the abandoned city. They’re one of the last teams of the day if the setting sun is anything to go by.

Skyscrapers, or what remains of them, shroud the streets in shadows the further the sun gets. They refrain from using their flashlights, they can’t afford to waste batteries while the sun still shines. Cars are a common sight, especially because of how big the city is. Also means more zombies to look out for.

The group was moving slowly as they left the self-declared ‘Green Ninja Base’, Stupid name in his opinion, then Etoiles finally told them why he and Fit are there. The reason they’re with this group is because they were getting correspondence from Soulfyre, and were asked to meet near the tallest building in the city.

Corresponding to what, Phil didn’t know, but it probably wasn’t good. It was probably another deal. None of the deals they made turned out good.

The closer they got to the building, the colder the air got as the night finally began. He could only imagine Soulfyre is there already, if only for the fact they had working vehicles at their disposal. Phil wondered if he could ask Soulfyre’s leader if he could join their camp, or get his partners back.

But now wasn’t the time for that, they had a meeting to get too and zombies to look out for.

As they approach the building, they see lights bright enough to light up large parts of the street. Army trucks branded with the word ‘Soulfyre’ surround the space, a patrol group marching down the surrounding blocks.

He’s got to admit, Soulfyre is well prepared, though that may be because they’re stationed in an (previously) abandoned army base.

There in the center is the leaders, or ‘council’, of Soulfyre standing before a fold out table. On the left is the main engineer Pierre, in the middle is the main leader Tubbo, and finally his right-hand and weapons expert, known only as ‘Bad-Boy Halo’. Tubbo nods to his right and ‘Halo’ starts walking towards them.

Well, towards Etoiles, but the rest of them are here too.

Etoiles grabs Fit by the arm and meets ‘Halo’ in the middle, leaving Phil and the other three in their group behind. They chat, but Phil doesn’t pay attention, too busy looking around. Missa always said he got distracted easily. When he jerks back into reality Etoiles and Fit are already discussing with Tubbo.

Well, they try to, but ‘Halo’ and Pierre keep jumping in with their own opinion.

Phil doesn’t know why, but he feels uneasy about this meeting. He’s been to multiple of them before, especially since he and Etoiles are friends, but something about this one feels off. Maybe it’s because they’ve not had a meeting for months, maybe it’s because there’s more guards than usual.

Maybe it's because they’ve never met at night.

Whatever it is keeps Phil on guard throughout the meeting, eyes darting around to try and find something suspicious. He tunes back into the conversation, but at this point it’s a screaming match between leaders.

“You can’t just do that!” Etoiles seems furious, “We have people to help, families in need of food, you can’t just do this!”

“We have people to take care of as well Etoiles!” Tubbo shouts back, “Just because you haven’t been rationing your food correctly doesn’t mean we have to sacrifice OUR resources because of YOUR mistake!”

“We are allies, you have to at least give us something!”

‘Halo’ whispers to Pierre and Tubbo, a grave look dawning upon the young leaders face that gave Phil a sense of foreboding, like he should get out as soon as possible.

“Fine,” his voice is shaky, “We can give you something, Guards!”

With that shout they began to pack everything up, leaving no trace that Soulfyre was ever there. The leaders hopped into a truck and sped away. The only thing that remained was the fold out table, sitting harmlessly in the middle.

The green clad man walked back over to their group, still dragging Fit despite the fact he didn’t need to. He was muttering angrily, but they couldn’t understand French, so they stood there until he calmed.

“Hey, at least they left us a table,” the bald man was quieter than he’s ever heard him.

Speaking of the table, it was strange that they left it here, especially when Soulfyre usually covers their tracks frighteningly well. It was suspicious, it was strange, and it made alarms sound in his head.

So of course he went to investigate.

It was just a regular old fold out table, what harm could it do?

The closer Phil got to it, the more he could see of the table; it was covered in graffiti, made a strange beeping sound, was missing a leg, made a strange beeping sound.

The sound suddenly stopped.

Oh fuck.

----

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Everything went black.

Chapter Text

Sunlight.

That’s the first thing Phil sees when he wakes up; the sun shining down on his face.

With a tired groan he sits up, squinting his eyes to adjust to the unfamiliar light. A weight slips off his form as he slowly adjusts to his surroundings; after being inside for so long, you tend to forget how bright the sun can get.

Fit always said he should go out more, and go out more he did, now Phil’s partners are with Soulfyre instead of-

Fucking Soulfyre.

Suddenly his tiredness is gone, replaced with a searing anger because who the hell plants a bomb during a peaceful meeting? His side is bleeding, probably because of how close he was to the explosion; the pain alone is enough to slow his movements, and it becomes more apparent when he tries to stand.

He uses his hand to put pressure on the wound, his feet staggering as he slowly walks in the direction of the nearest body. Its covered in rubble, looking like its been ripped apart yet still eerily recognizable as a person.

Seriously, how did I survive the blast when I was the closest to it? Phil thinks, looking down at the body and its nametag, what kind of name is ‘Condi’ anyways?

Phil rips off parts of the man’s shirt, tying it around his waist as he mourns the man. Despite not knowing him he knows people back at the settlement would miss him. With a quick prayer for a safe passing to the Goddess, Phil slowly walks his way towards where he assumes is the GGN base/settlement.

(Maybe that’s why Phil was still alive, maybe her magic protected him and kept him in the mortal plain. Etoiles thought it silly, but it was the only explanation; a gift for being such a devoted follower.)

He keeps having to turn around or turn a corner to find the way back, his sense of direction thrown for a loop from the explosion. Its even harder with his wounds, let alone the fact he’s barely been in this area of the city before.

Maybe that’s why Soulfyre chose this spot; they probably had eyes all over and knew they hadn’t been this far into the city yet.

(Hours later)

Phil is seriously going to kill Etoiles when he finds him; the man should have known that something like this would happen when he started aggravating people who were probably soldiers at some point.

(‘Oh, but I’m the best Phil, remember’ ‘Yeah, but not against eighty-something people!’)

He could kiss Fit’s bald head for putting up with it for so long…

The man urges himself forward, pace quickening as the settlement finally enters his view-

But before he could get there a shot rings out, jetting past his face, coming from none other than Fit himself. Phil opens his mouth, dry and croaky, but another shot is already grazing his shoulder before he could make a sound. His eyes widen, and he runs away from the settlement as more shots ring out.

(He misses the look of sorrow on Fit’s face as an equally saddened Etoiles leads him back inside.)

Phil sees his reflection in broken down windows; he’s so much paler, possibly due to blood-loss and he limps like the dead-

(No wonder Fit shot at him, any sane person would!)

But his face remained damn near untouched, save for a large scar going from his right cheek to over his left eye, the scar must’ve healed during his time knocked out.

(He ignores the discoloration, deeming the eerie dark purple eyeball and white pupil a blessing from the Goddess that let him live another day.)

Chapter Text

It’s been a week, and he’s starting to hear voices.

While he should be concerned, he can’t help but find relief in the sounds in his mind; gives him an ‘escape’ from the silent city.

He sits within an apartment, looking up at the popcorn-textured ceiling, seeing how its edges are peeled and torn. The room is covered with a layer of dust and bits of mold, sentimental items left behind in the fray of the beginning of the end.

Phil wonders what it would have looked like before everything went to shit.

In his hands is a photograph of the family that lived here; a woman with red hair and a man with brown curls holding two children, a ginger and a brunette. He wonders if they survived, but the voices tell him its not likely, and who is he to deny his only company?

Setting the photo on the coffee table, he moves to the balcony, where a murder of crows eats at the body of who he assumes to be the father from the photo. The once yellow hoodie now stained and torn open as the birds eat at his insides and flies surround his once heathy corpse, pieces of flesh strewn over the ground as the murder eats freely.

Phil isn’t disturbed by this, maybe even a bit comforted. This is the natural progression of things, something familiar in this hellhole of an apocalypse, something that finally makes sense. The human dies, and the creatures of the sky take as much as they can before they can’t any longer.

Plus, it gives him something else to focus on than his spiraling thoughts and the voices that seem to grow more violent overnight.

One of the crows caws at him, staring through its beady eyes and into his own,  and he assumes he’ll be their next meal; an ode to the being called death that they symbolize and prosper from.

It flies to his shoulder, holding a chunk of the man’s flesh in its beak, presenting it to him.

“Sorry mate, I don’t eat that stuff,” he chuckles at the bird’s odd behavior, looking down at the corpse and its mutilated face. He wonders if he should bury the man...

The sound of broken glass hits his ears, stealing his attention, and he looks towards the sound in confusion. ‘That came from the kitchen...’ he thought. Surprisingly none of the crows looked bothered, continuing to eat rather than fly away at the noise.

Phil re-opens the balcony door, struggling against the rusted edges until it opens. Perhaps his lack of food is affecting him more than he thought..

Through the open kitchen door, he sees a shattered plate on the ground that wasn’t there before, alongside the now tipped-over kitchen table. As he steps through the door, he gets jumped by the previously unnoticed corpse.

‘How the hell did I not notice the zombie here?!’ He thinks, legs trying to push its rotting body away from himself, hands grappling the bench he was shoved against desperately. A glimpse at its now copper red hair shows it to be the mother, growling and nearly spitting out blood from its jawless mouth.

Phil gets shoved to the floor, the woman clambering on top of him as it desperately scratches at his chest. For a moment, he thinks this is it; that he’ll never see his partners again, just because of his carelessness, him being unprepared to face a zombie six years into an apocalypse.

It nearly tears through his leather jacket, the zipper getting torn off, before gunshots ring through the empty air, invading the corpse’s skull and left arm. The mother goes limp, and Phil franticly shoves her off himself, looking towards where the gunshots came from, eyes widening.

It was the daughter, or at least he thinks it is. Her once brown hair turned darker; more black than brunette. She wears a dress – purple – like the one in the picture, she also wears a dark jacket, alongside a backpack with designs he cannot see.

‘She looks more like Missa or Kristin than her own parents’ He thinks, before shoving the thought away, thinking it too insensitive as he looks at the shell-shocked girl before him.

She’s panting, holding the gun unsteadily before herself as tears start to well up in her eyes, finally registering what – who – she shot at. Its only his instincts that stop the poor girl from hitting the ground as she weeps, and she clings to him for dear life. Phil hugs her tight, starting to speak as a desperate attempt to soothe her; to comfort her.

“Hey, its alright, everything will be fine now,” He whispers, rubbing her back, “You did so well, kid. You saved my life! You’re my hero, aren’t you?” That gets a weak laugh out of her and she tries to sit up again, so Phil brings them away from the kitchen and into the living room, making sure to keep her back to the balcony.

“So,” He begins, letting her rub her tears away herself, “Whatever is your name, my dear hero?” She sniffles, rubbing the last of her tears away; he can see she’s still upset, but she’s holding herself together well. Maybe the shock is still affecting her though.

“My name is Tallulah..” He snaps back into the conversation, pleasantly surprised that she shares his accent; a rare thing nowadays, “But most people just call me Lullah.”

He holds a hand out as greeting, waiting for her to shake it before introducing himself, “My name is Philza, though most people call me Phil. It’s a pleasure to meet you Lullah!” He’s usually not this over the top, but it made the girl laugh, and that’s enough for him, “Hey, how about we go somewhere else, yeah? It wont be safe here for long.”

And fuck her face too young to be that somber, but she nods, even as her eyes grow glassy and unfocused, and he wishes to take the words back. He moves to the kitchen, making her stay on the couch as he grabs whatever canned food was left behind. As Phil leaves the kitchen, he grabs her bag, ‘Must’ve dropped it in the commotion’ He thinks. Its covered in those Mario mushrooms, and he isn’t even sure they’re purple in the game, but he brings it over to her, putting the food into his own backpack.

Phil takes her hand and gently leads Lullah away from the apartment, wondering just how he got saddled with taking care of a kid he just met.

Wondering why the voices got so quiet, even as they step into the abandoned streets, watching the crows fly overhead, watching.

Chapter Text

It’s a few days later when they start seeing signs of life.

Phil recognises it as one of the GGN outposts (really, it's such a stupid name, Etoiles), he shakes those thoughts from his head. No need to focus on something he could never return to, not now that they see him as just another zombie.

He ignores his aching heart and washes away the memories with a sip of whatever water he brought from the settlement (Cant go back, can never go back-).

Its occupied, Phil realises, and he tells Lullah that she should stay. She would be safer with people who could give her a stable food source and a roof over her head.

But rather than rushing towards the first sign of people that aren’t the man who raided her old home him, she clings onto his hand tightly until he promises her that he or his partners (when he finally gets them back fuck you Etoiles) will come back and get her.

Come on, how could you expect Phil to resist that adorable smile of hers. He thinks she would be a nightmare with Chayanne.

(Don’t think about him, he’s safe with Kristin and Missa, he’s safe he’s safe He’s Safe-)

He gives her his beloved hat (Not his bucket hat, never that, but it's similar enough to look like it) as a keepsake, a real promise to return, and he goes on his merry way.

A crow pecks at the girl’s bag, before flying away.

/////     /////     /////

Stumbling through the newest abandoned building, Phil manages to find items that he is positive Soulfyre doesn’t have.

What use would highly trained Military soldiers on an otherwise-unclaimed Island, in the middle of the ocean, have for fucking gas masks.

After all, no one could have any gas to fight them with; they’re the only ones with a science lab to create some, so what use would they be? None, not when they clearly had the technology to gas anyone who opposes them and the audacity to think themselves better than to be harmed via gas attack.

(And if the rumours were true, they’ve already enclosed the more zombie-covered territory in gas)

A new voice joined his head after he left Lullah at the outpost, its deep, almost robotic and scripted, yet it bellows deeply and echoes in his mind with such raw anger and possession and begs him to take.

So he listens, and lets himself be guided to an entire box-full of masks and decides to take the lot.

His palms are stained black. He doesn’t notice at all.

There’s a second crow now.

/////     /////     /////

One week since he left saved Tallulah, he stumbles upon a hoard of zombies down the street and decides that maybe he should have stayed with her because what the fuck is he doing. He clearly isn’t made for this. Kristin would cry if she saw the state of disarray his clothes are in, and she very well may kill him for basically letting this happen.

He ignores the voice saying that she and Missa wouldn’t blame him for this; he’s gotten better at ignoring the weaker voices.

Phil tries to turn back, but the voices protest and widely out-vote his sense of reason, so he forges on and stays in the store closest to him. It’s a clothing shop, likely a high-quality brand that he can't be bothered to name off the top of his head.

The box of gas masks feels heavier with each step.

He doesn’t see the crows that have gathered outside the window.

There’s torn clothing everywhere, bags strewn around the dust-filled room from what had to have been the first days of the apocalypse. The walls have broken apart, revealing the brick beneath, and there’s a broken ceiling fan on the shattered tile flooring. The cash registers are all broken.

Each section is labelled. He needs something to carry the masks other than a heavy box, so he navigates through the dark to find whatever he is looking for. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for!

Circling back around, he finds the bag section near the window, right next to the door he entered from.

The voices laugh at his annoyance.

One bag looks usable, like the ones you would see on mountain climbers. It's black and Missa would have a fit about how it doesn’t suit him at all, but it's perfect.

So, he ditches the heavy box and fills the bag with the masks and what little rations he has left. Phil sips the little water he has left, and it's warm, almost sticky in his mouth. Placed precariously, only seven masks fit in the bag completely, just enough for him to be able to close it.

With a tired sigh, he leaves for the rooftops to try and find anything valuable to his survival.

There are feathers where the crows were.

/////     /////     /////

Now equipped with a med-kit, stolen from an old storage room and haphazardly stuffed into his bag, one of the gasmasks is now resting on his hip, as there was no other room,  and Phil has another problem.

Food and water.

Gods, he isn’t cut out for this kind of life.

Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem; filter some water, raid the farm, all well and good. Maybe steal some cookies from a local bakery.

But that was when he was back home at the main GGN settlement, and there’s no filter for water, nor any farms that could help him. He almost wishes he had rationed better, but then the image of a young girl Lullah? pops into his mind, and he doesn’t regret it for a second. So, as he walks the streets solemnly, he jumps into the first house he sees.

Maybe they just so happen to have non-perishables that lasted more than a decade?

/////     /////     /////

The sickening smell of stale, still air fills the house, but there isn’t any peeling wallpaper nor any damage in sight, aside from how ransacked it looks. He’s only in the entrance hallway, perhaps it's just this area that’s like this?

Regardless, Phil puts on the gas mask, if only to escape the horrid stench. The voices are oddly loud, as if they had never been heard before, screaming in his ear. They want the mask off, they say that the air won't hurt him, and to just listen to them.

He keeps it on, a little rebellion of his own, and continues down the hall and into the lounge.

/////     /////     /////

Phil’s eyes scan the scene before him, unbelieving, almost unseeing.

A man lies dead on the floor, his skull caved in, with blood staining an already red shirt. There are maggots where his left eye once was, said eye is lying inches away, as if ripped out. A table is flipped over beside him, and character sheets are all over the floor, a D20 in his limp hand.

Phil can tell this body is new, the lack of rot visible for all to see, and his death was purposeful. Like he’s seen on zombies in passing, the skull is caved in just enough to show an axe was thrown. It's one of the cleaner cuts he’s seen, a notebook is chopped in half on the floor, likely tried to be used as a shield once the man realised too late.

He wonders how the man survived so long, and if he can survive before he shares the mans fate.

His stomach drops as he looks away from the body, towards where he assumes the TV once was.

There is a Soulfyre symbol spray-painted on the wall; the rest of the place has already been raided, and this innocent man was clearly caught by surprise.

What a cruel world indeed.

/////     /////     /////

When he leaves the house, he finds that he can’t take off the mask. Or maybe he doesn’t want to.

He keeps it on and trudges through the streets to find shelter before nightfall, wondering why he didn’t just stay at the outpost and risk being shot at.

The voices cheer as Phil enters an empty car to sleep, not bothering to wipe away the dust or lay anything down to separate himself from the decaying seats.

His back aches.

/////     /////     /////

Days later, after passing multiple buildings overrun by black mold, a few run-ins with the local zombie hoards and another reason why he doesn’t want to do this shit anymore, Phil makes it to an oddly quiet, peaceful place.

A new area of the city, or at least an area GGN or Soulfyre hasn’t been to, what with the lack of green or blue spray paint. Perhaps even they saw how dangerous it is here, with office buildings fallen on top of one another like a fucked up game of Jenga, and the zombie hoards littering the few buildings left standing (Why does he know that-).

There are no cars, and everything is overrun by vegetation. But that isn’t what catches his eye.

It’s the sheer number of crows gathered here.

“Nah mate, fuck that-“ Phil croaks out; he hasn’t talked in a while.

But the voices, his only company for so so long (who don’t judge him for having left Lullah behind, who didn’t abandon him, who didn’t shoot him-), urge him forward, and he runs.