Felicity's Beast World Apocalypse-Chapter 83: Red Dress

The town appeared slowly, as if it had been holding its breath and was only now deciding to let itself be seen.

Low buildings. Faded storefronts. A rusted petrol station sign creaking faintly in the wind. Windows either shattered or boarded. The main street was littered with old flyers that had fused into the asphalt by rain and time, bleached into ghosts of words no one remembered caring about.

Felicity barely registered any of that at first.

Because Damien’s tail had just slid, deliberate and unhurried, over the thin fabric beneath her shorts.

It was not an accident.

It was not wind.

It was a slow, testing drag that traced the line of her panties and dipped just low enough to make her brain blank.

She made a sound.

Not dignified. Not subtle.

A sound escaped her throat half-gasp, half-moan despite her teeth clenched tight against it, her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. It vibrated in her chest, muffled but unmistakable in the sudden quiet. " What the-" She muffled.

It came out loud. Too loud. Sharp enough to slice through the steady rhythm of boots on asphalt.

The entire formation froze.

Victor stopped so abruptly that gravel crunched under his heel. Voss’s head snapped toward her. Ivan’s posture shifted instantly into threat mode. Sarge’s hand went to his weapon. Marx inhaled sharply. Tommy looked like someone had yelled fire.

And then they smelled it.

The faint spike in the air.

Heat.

Bloom.

Felicity’s hands flew to her face, mortified. "I I didn’t—"

Pupils blew wide around her.

Victor turned slowly.

"What happened," he asked, voice already dangerous.

Damien was smiling.

Not smug.

Not even apologetic.

Just pleased.

Felicity could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, could feel the warmth rising under her skin, and that only made it worse. She pressed her palms harder over her face.

"Nothing happened," she insisted.

Marx inhaled again and made a strangled noise. "That is not nothing."

Sarge swore under his breath.

Tommy blinked rapidly. "Is someone injured. Why does it smell like—"

"Tommy," Sarge snapped.

Voss’s gaze slid to Damien with surgical precision.

Damien’s tail flicked lazily behind him, utterly unapologetic.

Victor stepped closer, and the air shifted.

"Explain," Victor said.

Felicity groaned into her hands. "Don’t make it worse."

Legend’s voice dropped low, entertained and suffering all at once. "Damien, what did you do."

Damien tilted his head slightly. "I touched my wife."

The silence that followed was electric.

Felicity squeaked. "You did not have to say it like that."

Sarge’s jaw tightened visibly.

Marx exhaled like someone had stabbed him.

Tommy looked between them in utter confusion. "Touched her how."

Nobody answered him.

Pope, who had been walking a few paces back discussing something quietly with Ash and Kai, lifted his head and inhaled deeply.

His eyes widened.

"The Light—"

Victor smacked him in the back of the head without looking.

Pope stumbled forward with a startled yelp.

"Do not," Victor said flatly.

Ash coughed into his fist, trying not to laugh. Kai stared at the sky like he was reconsidering his life choices. Sam, walking behind them, made a low hum of appreciation that did not help the situation at all.

Felicity peeked through her fingers, face flaming. "I hate all of you."

"You don’t," Damien said gently.

Victor’s gaze locked on Damien. "Control yourself."

Damien met his eyes without flinching. "I am."

That only made things worse.

The air thickened.

Heat bled into instinct, and instinct bled into something far less appropriate for the middle of a zombie-infested street.

Sarge scrubbed a hand over his face. "We need to move."

Marx nodded stiffly. "Immediately."

Voss stepped closer to Felicity, shielding her from the widening ring of tension.

She was still hiding in her hands.

"I said what the because it surprised me," she muttered. "Not because— not because—"

"Because what," Marx asked hoarsely.

Felicity froze.

She had no idea what to say to that.

Tommy, still lost, leaned toward Sarge. "Why is everyone acting like she set off a flare."

Sarge stared straight ahead. "She kind of did."

A low, wet groan echoed from the far end of the street.

The town had heard them.

Victor’s head snapped toward the sound.

Under the faded sign of what used to be a bakery, figures began to shuffle into view.

One. Three. Eight.

More from the side alley.

More from behind a tipped-over bus.

The smell hit next.

Rot and old meat and stagnant water.

Zombies.

And not just a few.

A crowd.

Victor exhaled once, sharp and grounding. "Formation."

The team snapped into place.

Felicity lowered her hands, still red, still mortified, but the shift in the air ripped her back into focus. Her husbands stepped in front of her automatically.

Damien leaned close to her ear, voice low and steady. "Buff us."

Right.

Right.

Felicity swallowed and lifted her hands.

The warmth inside her was still there, still simmering from embarrassment and Damien’s tail and a dozen too-hungry stares.

She reached for it anyway.

The glow bloomed from her palms like breath in winter air, soft gold threaded with faint crimson from her flushed skin.

It moved outward in waves.

Victor’s shoulders rolled back as it hit him. Voss’s eyes sharpened, pupils narrowing into lethal precision. Damien’s tail stilled, then coiled with intent. Even Sarge and Marx straightened as the strength poured into muscle and bone.

Pope inhaled like he was witnessing a miracle.

"The Light—"

Victor elbowed him this time without breaking stance.

"Fight," Victor ordered.

The first wave hit.

Zombies spilled down the street in uneven, desperate lunges. A former shopkeeper with half a face missing. A child-sized shape that made Felicity’s stomach twist before Voss intercepted it with brutal mercy. A woman in a torn red cardigan that caught for a second in Felicity’s peripheral vision before Damien ended her with a single clean strike.

The buff made everything sharper.

Victor moved like controlled violence given a body. His wings snapped outward, knocking three aside at once before he crushed the skull of a fourth. Voss was quiet devastation, slipping between bodies with terrifying grace. Damien was force and elegance combined, tail and claws and precise power.

Sarge and Marx fought back-to-back, rhythm smooth and practiced.

Tommy darted in and out like a blade with too much personality.

Ash and Kai guarded the rear.

Colt (horse 1) laughed once under his breath as he took down two in a row.

Pope tried to quote scripture mid-swing and got blood in his mouth for his trouble.

And then Victor staggered.

It was small.

A single misstep when a heavier corpse slammed into his wing at the wrong angle.

Felicity felt it through the bond before she saw it.

A ripple.

A flicker.

His space fractured.

There was a flash of light near him.

And suddenly Luna and Frost tumbled out onto the cracked pavement like startled kittens, landing in a tangle of limbs and startled squeaks.

For half a second everyone froze in horror.

The children blinked up at the chaos with wide, shining eyes.

"Oooh," Luna breathed, delighted. "Fight."

Frost scrambled upright, little fists already clenched. "We help."

Victor snarled in a way Felicity had never heard before.

"Back."

But it was too late to tuck them away instantly. The disruption had already happened.

Felicity’s heart nearly stopped.

"Victor!"

Voss moved first, scooping Luna up under one arm without breaking stride and snapping the neck of a lunging zombie with the other hand.

Damien vaulted over a fallen body, caught Frost mid charge before the child could leap at something twice his size, and tucked him securely against his chest.

Frost beamed like this was the best day of his life.

"I’m strong," Frost declared.

"You are not fighting," Damien said firmly.

Felicity’s buff flared brighter without her meaning it to, feeding more power into the line, more speed, more endurance.

Victor regained his footing and annihilated the remaining front line with frightening efficiency.

Within minutes, the street fell silent again.

Bodies lay scattered in broken shapes across storefronts and sidewalks.

The only sounds were heavy breathing and the faint creak of the petrol station sign.

Felicity exhaled shakily.

Victor strode back toward her, face tight.

"I lost control," he said.

"You got hit," she corrected immediately.

He looked down at Luna and Frost, now safely tucked in Voss and Damien’s arms.

Luna wriggled. "Again!"

"No," every adult male said in unison.

Frost pouted but did not argue.

Victor closed his eyes for a brief second, then reopened them.

"They do not come out unless I choose it."

Felicity stepped closer and touched his arm. "It was an accident."

She leaned in and brushed her lips against his a feather light touch that lingered just long enough to make his breath catch. "I’ll put them in my space for now," she whispered, her voice soft as rainfall against the tension between them. Her fingers grazed his arm reassuringly. "It’s not your fault."

His jaw tightened.

But he nodded.

The adrenaline slowly drained, leaving behind the town’s oppressive quiet.

They moved deeper in, clearing building by building.

Inside a small clothing boutique with shattered glass and fallen racks, Ivan paused.

He lifted something from beneath a collapsed shelf.

Soft fabric.

Red.

He shook it out.

A dress.

Not flashy. Not impractical. A soft red cotton piece that would brush just below her knees, long sleeves intact, neckline modest but flattering.

Ivan looked at her.

"You could wear it," he said.

Felicity blinked.

"Now?"

"Why not."

Marx muttered something under his breath that made Sarge elbow him sharply.

Felicity narrowed her eyes. "What."

"Nothing," Marx said quickly.

Tommy leaned closer to Sarge. "What did he say."

Sarge replied without inflection. "He said red is dangerous."

Tommy nodded solemnly. "Fashion is war."

Felicity rolled her eyes but took the dress.

She stepped into a back room while Voss stood at the doorway, physically blocking anyone from even accidentally glancing inside.

When she emerged, the effect was immediate.

The red softened her in a way armor and jackets never did.

It also made every male present go utterly still.

Victor inhaled.

Damien’s tail froze mid-sway.

Voss’s gaze darkened visibly.

Ivans’s Eyes Bulged.

Marx swallowed audibly.

Sarge looked away entirely.

Tommy blinked. "You look like"

"Do not say Light," Victor warned.

Tommy snapped his mouth shut.

Felicity smoothed the fabric self-consciously. "It was just there."

"It’s yours," Ivan said quietly.

They walked the rest of the main street in that dress, boots crunching over debris, red a startling slash of color in a gray, rotting world.

At the far end of town, Pope stopped.

He stared at a small stone planter outside what used to be a café.

Then he looked at Ash.

Ash nodded.

Without a word, they began stacking stones.

Felicity sighed softly.

Every time they stopped somewhere new, Pope insisted on leaving something behind. A small shrine. A carved symbol. A scrap of parchment with directions to the vineyard and notes about safety.

Kai joined them this time, muttering something about structure and witness. Sam rolled his eyes but helped anyway.

Pope set a small scrap of paper in the center.

"Vineyard," he wrote carefully. "Follow the marked signs. There is protection. There is order."

Felicity stepped closer.

"You don’t have to make it about me," she said.

Pope looked up at her with an expression somewhere between reverence and stubbornness. "It already is."

Victor made a low sound in his throat.

Pope nodded, but he did not remove the stone.

They stepped back.

The shrine was small. Unassuming.

But it was something.

Tommy tilted his head at it. "We’re building... little rock stacks everywhere."

"Yes," Sarge said.

"Why."

Sarge stared at him. "Mental illness."

Tommy blinked. "Oh."

They moved on.

As the sun dipped fully toward the horizon, casting the town in amber shadow, Victor slowed at the edge of the final street.

He was staring ahead.

Felicity stepped closer.

On the far ridge beyond the town, silhouetted against the dying light, was another group.

They kept their distance.

For now.

But she could see them clearly against the horizon.

Five silhouettes stood in perfect formation, unnaturally still.

Their eyes never blinked, never wavered from her position.

Felicity felt her lungs seize mid-breath, her body instinctively freezing like prey caught in the open.

Sarge’s voice was low and steady. "Not alone."

Tommy squinted. "Friends?"