Bl Apocalypse Novels & Stories

And they never revealed that secret. Phobus was sent to earth many times. But he had never seen this world this shiny before. It had become more beautiful and breathtaking. But of course, he was not here for vacations or picnics. He was here to destroy that beauty. He was sent to carry the mission of destruction of humanity. It was finally the time to unlock the first tree of destruction. No one knew what it was. And no one knew when it would bring. Except for Lucifer, only the trees knew what kind of destruction they were going to make. What kind of apocalypse they were about to bring. An apocalypse indeed. That was what Lucifer had in his mind.

“What are you talking about?” Clara’s lips curled into a strange smile. “Why bother? The world is ending soon anyway.” They had been reborn too? I was shocked, but I quickly masked it with a cold smile. “Nonsense! Anyway, I sincerely wish you two the best. I hope you and Ethan stay together forever.” Because when the apocalypse hits, it will be so much easier to destroy you both together. “Hey! What’s going on here?” A booming, authoritative voice rang out from the front entrance of the restaurant. A tall, broad-shouldered young man in a dark suede jacket walked in, flanked by two imposing security guards from the shopping center.

“This shouldn’t be happening for months.” A distant siren wailed somewhere across the sleeping city. Caleb’s expression darkened. “Your return fractured the timeline.” The wind howled violently through the harbor. And then— “The apocalypse isn’t coming,” Caleb said quietly. “It’s bleeding into the present.”

“That’s impossible, because I only discovered this mark today.” “No,” Adrian replied. “You discovered it today, but that doesn’t mean it appeared today.” Daniel pulled out a chair and sat down. “There’s something strange about this whole situation, because before the apocalypse several research facilities were investigating people with unusual biological patterns, and most of their experiments failed.” “And I was one of their experiments?” “Apparently.” I looked at the photograph again, which showed six people with Elias Vane standing in the middle holding a folder, and I recognised nobody else, but something about the picture bothered me. “Where was this taken?”

Tristan came running up the stairs, his coat half on, his face pale. "Aurora. The sector radios are all jammed. And we just picked up an emergency band from the ridge road." He held out the handset, and I heard the voice, thin and breaking over a rising hiss, pure panic. "...convoy... forty vehicles, civilians, refugees from the lowlands... something is wrong with the sky... it is raining... Goddess, the rain is burning the—" The voice died, replaced by loud static and then a scream cut short. I looked at the copper sky. I did not need the sphere to tell me. Six days early, a whole six days ahead of the thirty I had been promised, the world was breaking.

Boundaries enforced. The storage space pulsed once at the back of my mind. I focused on it and felt the difference immediately. The soft capacity limit had eased. Not a dramatic expansion. A measurable one. More volume. A little more room for the next layers of preparation. The system’s pale text followed a moment later. [Consistent preparation acknowledged.] [Minor storage expansion granted.] [Larger functions remain locked.] [Hint: Broader system access unlocks after the first public crisis.] I read the last line twice.

I rejected the manuscript because the female lead was a pathetic martyr who died for her cheating boyfriend and evil twin. Hours later, I woke up in her body. I immediately dumped the boyfriend and abandoned the toxic family. But the invisible story system hated my choice. [Plot deviation detected. Apocalypse accelerated by 72 hours.] Now, the world is ending early, and the System wants me dead. My only hope? Teaming up with the disgraced, paranoid doomsday scientist everyone called crazy. The author wrote a tragedy. I am rewriting it into a survival guide.

"Theo, come over here. Read this section over, would you?" I took the book from him, taking a seat across from him and leaning back into the plush of my chair as I read the writing on the page. Before long I felt my own brow furrow and my lips turn down as I registered what I was reading. The writer was telling of attacks, Rogue attacks, circling town for months and growing increasingly close. They talked about fires staring without warning, of the whole of their borders coated in flame. I thought back to the fire I had seen blazing in the distance the night I came upon Alpha Rhodes. I thought of the movie night, of the whisperings amongst the warriors about the attacks growing nearer to the

Handwriting from twelve years ago — the strokes heavier than they were now, the flourishes drawn wide and loose, like someone who wasn't afraid of wasting paper. I turned to page twelve. A layout diagram of the bunker. Seven bunks, one incubation unit, the storeroom at the end of the hallway, the concrete-sealed door nearly two feet thick. In the bottom right corner of the diagram, a note in my own handwriting: "The apocalypse has to feel real. Push the heat up, make the water filthy — let the audience practically smell it. Rotate the insiders every season, keep one genuinely unwitting participant — protects the ratings." After "genuinely unwitting," there was a note in parentheses. Just one

And tucked against my chest, warm and steady, my son is narrating the apocalypse. “The Rage has breached the third defensive construct,” Confluence says thoughtfully. “Madness favors illusion over reinforcement. It’s a flawed strategy against something so direct.” “You’ve been alive less than an hour,” Alistair growls. “I’ve been aware far longer,” my son replies. We crest a rocky incline, joining the stream of refugees fleeing in the opposite direction of whatever cosmic horror now tears at the world behind us. Wolves. Humans. Children. Some barefoot. Some bleeding. All terrified.