The World Ended 16 Years Ago On What Cellbit Vaguely Remembers Was A Tuesday Morning. It Was Quiet, Just

The world ended 16 years ago on what Cellbit vaguely remembers was a Tuesday morning. It was quiet, just for a moment. And then it was loud.

Cellbit was ten when the apocalypse happened. He doesn’t remember anything from before the Earth split open. All he remembers is the silence exploding into screams as Those From BELOW crawled out of the crack in the ground and took flight.

(There was a white room, and there were machines. And there was Cellbit, and there was the daemon.)

But, really, the end of the world has been pretty chill, all things considered. Avoiding the Gates is easy enough once you know what to look out for- smoke, and fire, and bones. Killing daemons is even easier- the only real difference between them and humans is that (most) daemons are uglier.

The real problem with the apocalypse isn’t the collapsed power grid or the lack of infrastructure, and it definitely isn’t Those From BELOW. It’s the people, Cellbit included, who are somehow still alive even after the introduction of Hell to Earth.

Case in point: the man squirming on the ground in front of Cellbit’s feet. His hand has been… divorced from his body, but it’s somehow still holding the key Cellbit needs. His hair is white, just like every other bastard Cellbit has killed over the past five years, and he needs to die.

His name doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s wearing a necklace of human ears around his neck, and that that’s fucking gross. But, well, he is a Fed. Ear necklaces are pretty normal by their standards.

“You bastard,” the Fed spits, blood dripping down his chin. His eyes are red from the BELOW’s influence, and his teeth are sharpened to an unnatural degree. (That much, at least, is normal to see these days.)

Cellbit kicks the fucker in response. He scoops up the Fed’s detached hand and gets to work uncurling its fingers, tucking his machete under his arm as he does so.

“Uuuugh,” Roier groans, sat on the ground by the Fed’s head with his legs crossed and his mouth twisted into a bored frown.

He throws his head back and closes his eyes.

Cellbit hums apologetically: “Desculpe, guapito. We’ll be done soon.”

He pulls at one of the Fed’s fingers so hard it comes off. It falls to the ground right in front of the Fed’s nose, making him scream, but making Cellbit let out a triumphant little laugh.

“Got it!” he announces.

He manages to wiggle the key free, and then he holds it up for Roier to see.

Roier cracks two eyes open and smiles.

“Vamos!” he cheers. “This guy sucks!”

“You can kill him,” Cellbit says. He absently tosses the Fed’s hand onto his body and turns his full attention to the key. “He isn’t important enough to be a hostage or anything.”

“Excuse me?” the Fed demands.

Cellbit ignores him. What happens next is none of his business.

“Shhhhh,” Roier says. “Close your mouth, holy shit, your breath stinks! What have you been eating, man?”

“I think you know what. Daemon.”

Cellbit kicks the fucker again.

But he’s right, and both Cellbit and Roier know it. Consuming daemon blood makes a human stronger, and nobody has been abusing that fact like the Federation. That’s why their workers all have white hair: the stress.

That’s why the Earth split open: the stress.

(There was a white room, and there were machines. And there was Cellbit, and there was the daemon. There were two cages, and there was blood.)

“What happened to just taking drugs, man?” Roier complains. “Or those little, uhhh… gummy things…?”

“Vitamins,” Cellbit supplies.

Roier snaps his fingers. “Vitamins!”

The key is more old-fashioned than Cellbit had expected: it’s a literal key, not a keycard like Cellbit is used to seeing the Feds carry around. It’s small and bronze and engraved with the letters ‘P’ and ‘R’ and a coupon of numbers that Cellbit doesn’t know the meanings of. (Yet.)

“You wouldn’t understand,” the Fed sneers.

“Eh, maybe, maybe not,” Roier responds.

And then, to Cellbit, he asks, “Do you want to keep any of him?”

Cellbit shakes his head. “Nah, he’s toxic as Hell.”

“Hey! Be nice to Hell!” Roier protests.

“I’m just saying that he’s got, like, shit inside of him. I don’t want any of that in me.”

He vaguely gestures towards the Fed’s entire self.

The Fed wiggles indignantly. He’s about to protest when Roier leans in and snaps his neck in one quick, smooth motion.

He accidentally snaps the Fed’s head clean off his body, which drops the ear necklace onto Roier’s lap, which makes Roier make a weird grossed out noise and drop the head and skitter backwards in the grass like a spider.

“Auough!” he screams. (Or something like that, anyway.) “What the fuck?”

Cellbit finally looks up from the key, fixing Roier with a cheeky grin.

“What’s wrong, guapito?” he innocently asks. “I can’t hear you.”

He bends down and picks up the ear necklace and holds it next to his own ear.

Roier does not look impressed.

“Fucking gross, Cellbo,” he flatly says.

Cellbit shrugs and drops the necklace onto the Fed’s chest. It is fucking gross, but it’s not something that Cellbit isn’t used to. He’s seen some gross shit. He’s done some gross shit. An ear necklace sucks, like, a lot, but it could be worse. It could be eyes- eye jewelry is fucking disgusting.

“Come on,” Cellbit says, going around the corpse and offering a hand down to Roier. “We’re losing daylight.”

Roier takes his hand, stands, and doesn’t let go. His claws dig in slightly, juuuust slightly, and it hurts, and it’s grounding.

He squeezes Cellbit’s hand. Cellbit squeezes back.

When the sun sets, the daemons rise from the BELOW. Roier will be fine, but Cellbit doesn’t want to risk it. He’s too close to.

(There was a white room, and there were machines. And there was Cellbit, and there was the daemon. There were two cages, and there was blood. And there was Cucurucho, and there was Elena.)

Cellbit slips the key into his pocket and slides his machete back into its sheath. He raises Roier’s hand and kisses his knuckles and smiles as Roier leans in to kiss his cheek.

“Don’t worry, baby boy,” Roier teases, “I’ll keep you safe.”

He cackles as Cellbit roughly pushes his away and starts walking towards the sunset.

“Não, gatinho!” Roier cries. “Come back!”

He runs after Cellbit and retakes his hand, swings it between them.

“You’re so clingy,” Cellbit sighs. He’s still smiling, anyway.

“Wow, it’s almost like we’re soulmates or something,” Roier says. “Craaaazy.”

Daemons, much like humans, have souls. Cellbit is probably the only human being that believes that. Everyone else is either dead or xenophobic. Just because daemons come from the BELOW doesn’t mean that they’re soulless, hellish abominations hellbent on destroying mankind.

No, they’re just assholes.

Case in point: Roier. And Cellbit wouldn’t have him any other way.

(And there was Cellbit, and there was the daemon.

When the smoke cleared and the screams stopped, it was just the two of them surrounded by corpses.

The daemon was free. Cellbit was not.

The daemon flipped him off. Cellbit started crying.

The daemon opened the cage. The daemon hugged him: four arms, strong hug, the first hug that Cellbit can remember ever getting.

The end of the world was quiet in that room. It was just the two of them, as it would forever be.)