Apocalyptical Love (Sanscest fanfiction)

Introduction

Nobody's P.O.V

For years now, there had been a zombie apocalypse, caused by accident in the biggest lab in the world. Most of the population of humans and monsters had been turned, over six years ago, but now with a lack of sustainable food, the zombies had began to decrease in numbers. That didn't make then any less dangerous. The remaining humans and monsters have been trying their best to recover, setting up survivor camps around places that could still sustain a large amount of people.

Unfortudently for our group of survivors, they were not in one of those survivor camps. They had been sent to an arena, one of many tasked with killing off as many zombies as they could lay their weapons on. Crowds of people gathered on the high walls of the arena to watch the bane of their existence be slaughtered by whichever warrior they chose to put against them. When they open that gate, hoards of zombies that had been attracted by the luring smoke of the furnace at the centre would walk inside, seeking the prey that they knew so well.

Currently, there were no zombies in the arena, they were all hoarding around the thick metal walls that had been frozen cold due to the winter wind. But soon they would let them in, along with a warrior forced against their will to fight. There were nine warriors for them to choose from. All skeletons sent from an underground camp just before it was overrun by the zombies.

There was Ink, a kindhearted, creative warrior who fights off any enemy with the magic of his paint and paintbrush. Blueberry, not much of a fighter, but would do anything to save someone who's life was in danger. Geno, thought to have been a stray taking refuges with the last delivery of warriors due to being a mystery to everyone and the eternally bleeding wound across his chest. Reaper, or Death, given the nickname for being on of the first warriors and surviving up until this point without a scratch on him, also he dresses like the Grim Reaper.

Horror, a warrior respected for cutting out the infected area in his skull after being bitten during battle, and still carrying on with blood leaking down his face and staining his clothes. Dust, who was thought to have murdered someone during the delivery due to the dust covering his clothes. Cross, a master of knives and seems to have two seperate personalities. Killer, good at getting himself hurt and somehow never getting infected. Then Fell, a gold-toothed skeleton who can't be bothered to fight half the time.

Currently, the masters of this arena were deciding on a warrior to send out to battle. Everyone in the waiting room of Warriors was anxious, because no matter how good you may think you are, there's always a chance of infection. Getting infected is instant death if you make it through the battle, because there's no cure and no way that anyone would risk letting you live. Fell was sitting on the dirt floor in the corner, smoking a cigarette and watching as everyone stared nervously at the door.

Ink was hugging Blueberry close, mainly because he was terrified of the zombies. On the way here on the delivery truck, they had been attacked. His own brother had sacrificed his life to make sure that they got safely to the arena. Blueberry was never able to get the image of his beloved brother being mauled to death out of his head. The rest of the group was spread out across the room. Nobody there knew each other very well, with the exception of Ink and Blueberry of course. The rest never bothered to get to know each other. The reason being because nobody wanted to be close to someone who might die or be infected, but, he packs a hard punch. It was sad. To know someone for so long but to never really know them.

The air was tense, the quiet chatting of the outside crowds could be faintly heard. The room's barren walls made it feel like they were prisoners. Well, that wasn't far from the truth. Soon enough, the announcer of the arena's voice sounded over the rusty speakers.His voice like one who narrated a sports game in a large stadium. The large, metal door in front of them opened up as the warrior was announced.

"Reaper!" Called out the voice.

Reaper huffed and walked out into the arena, nobody saying anything as he did. The front gate that let the zombies in hadn't been opened yet. Normally when they supply weapons to the warriors, they give them a choice of three. But, everyone knew Reaper's signature weapon, always a scythe. It was like it made him whole. He took up the trusty scythe, it's blade glimmering in the sun. Despite the sunny day, the winter cold was enough to chill anyone. Reaper wasn't effected by it, though.

The announcer ordered the door to the hoards of groans and snarls to be opened. And opened it was. No sooner had the door been opened, a massive crowd of zombies stumbled into the arena. Their movements were clumsy, unbalanced, relying only on their rotting brain's instincts. There were no thoughts of right and wrong left in these pitiful creature's non-beating hearts. It had all been drained by the infection.

Once the front row of zombies was about halfway to Reaper, the great gate to the outside world slammed shut, crushing any zombies still remaining under it. Their pained screeches were quickly silenced. Reaper wanted this done quickly cleanly, so he readied his scythe for a fast fight. He charged forward swinging his scythe sidewards to do some real damage. With each swing, a good six zombies at a time were sliced clean in half. The crawling zombies would attempt to bite and claw at Reaper's feet. But the thing was, Reaper never touched the ground, he was always floating above it. The zombies couldn't reach him.

After a good twenty minutes, all the zombies had been reduced to pathetic half-bodied crawlers. Reaper wasted no time in smashing their rotting skulls with the end of his scythe, one by one. And another few minutes later, none of the zombies moved, groaned or clawed. Reaper dropped the bloody scythe and went back towards the gate leading to the other warriors, which had opened back up for them. Then, they all went to their rooms to eat, sleep and prepare for the next day.

This was the daily routine. Get up, have their start of the day rations, go killing zombies, then return to their rooms. It's not an ideal job, that's for sure, but it was essential to reduce the already falling zombie numbers. Their population reduced massively every year, but it would still be a long, long time before their world was safe to wonder across again. Probably longer then any of our warriors would live. But don't look away just yet, don't give up on them so easily. Their fate, as they will soon realise, will change for the better.