Into the Apocalypse: Saving My Favorite Villain Chapter 3: The First Step To Save the Villain I Love

Rosalia — POV

The mont realization struck —that I was inside the very novel I once obsessed over, the very story where my most beloved character existed—sothing inside shifted. A fla lit up in the hollow darkness of my heart, a purpose I had never possessed before.

This world, terrifying as it was, had given a second chance. And now, I had a goal. A reason to exist.

Cassel.

Even the whisper of his na in my mind sent a shiver running through .

I didn’t feel as though I were trapped in so work of fiction, drifting inside paper and ink. No. There was nothing hollow about this world. The wind pressing against my skin, the faint tallic scent of blood in the air, the distant, guttural moans echoing through ruined streets—everything was vivid, tangible, real.

This is no longer just a story. This is my world. My reality.

And in this reality, I will live again.

This life will not be wasted the way the first one was. No more years poured out in silence, ignored and dismissed by those who never truly saw . This ti, I would dedicate everything—every breath, every step, every drop of my blood—to him. To Cassel.

It wasn’t about love, not exactly. At least, not yet. I wasn’t here to force him into my arms, to demand a romance he never asked for. But if fate willed it, if his gaze ever softened in my direction, if his lips ever whispered my na affectionately... I would welco it with every fiber of my being.

But for now, there was only one thing that mattered.

Saving him.

I stood, breath steady, resolve hardening like steel within my chest. I had wasted enough seconds.

I had to move. Now.

The air beyond the dormitory walls was thick with silence, a silence broken only by the occasional distant scream or the sound of sothing heavy collapsing miles away.

I had no idea what day it was. The apocalypse was in its infancy, that much I knew. But ti here was slippery, uncertain, and I had no calendar or clock to guide .

Still, mory—my mory of the novel—served as my compass.

At this point in the tiline, Cassel should already be gathering his subordinates, his loyal followers, and his family, preparing to leave City B. His destination was City A—a strategic stronghold, fortified by nature and man. Nestled against mountains, its terrain made defense easier, and its military presence was unmatched.

Cassel’s reasoning was always simple, always pragmatic. If the army remained intact, joining forces with them would strengthen his position. If they fell, then at the very least, the weapons and ammunition stockpiled in the city would provide enough firepower for survival.

With his strength, his intelligence, his sheer force of will—he could establish a base there. He could take command.

And in truth, he did.

Of course, the army didn’t survive unscathed. Though not completely annihilated, they suffered devastating losses.

The soldiers... they had fallen in droves. Entire battalions gone in the span of days.

I could see it clearly in my mind’s eye: the barracks, the tight quarters, the closeness that had once been a strength. Now, that closeness was a curse. All it took was one infection, one soldier’s scream, one hungry bite in the middle of the night—and a hundred n beca a hundred monsters.

Zombies in those early days weren’t strong. Their limbs were clumsy, their speed uneven. But the virus—they carried death in their teeth, in their fingernails, in the tiniest scratch.

That was why the world crumbled so quickly. Why the streets ran with blood before anyone had ti to understand what was happening.

Later, things would only grow worse. The virus would evolve, birthing creatures of nightmare. The zombies would adapt. Grow stronger. Faster. So would develop powers of their own.

And humans—those cursed and blessed survivors who awakened supernatural abilities—would discover a cruel irony. They resisted the virus better than ordinary n. But they also beca the most coveted delicacy for the evolved zombies.

A twisted circle of predator and prey.

And sowhere on that brutal road between City B and City A, Cassel was moving forward, carving his way through the apocalypse.

I had to find him.

The journey that once took re hours would now stretch into days. Acid rains would fall from the skies the color of rust. Roads would collapse under the weight of neglect. GPS, satellites, the whole glorious system of technology—gone, useless. And all the while, swarms of zombies wandered endlessly, blocking paths, filling highways, spilling into every city and village like a tide of rot.

According to the novel, Cassel’s convoy would take at least a week to reach City A.

That was my chance.

If I could get to the highway... if I could just keep moving forward... perhaps fate would let cross paths with him.

I layered clothing over my body, tugging on sweater after sweater, shirt after shirt, until I wore no less than five. They felt heavy, suffocating, but necessary. One layer of fabric might be torn. Two could be shredded. But five? Five might stop a bite long enough for to live.

I wasn’t foolish enough to think this would make invincible. But survival wasn’t about invincibility—it was about delaying death long enough to find another path.

And I couldn’t die. Not yet. Not until I knew Cassel was safe.

I paused, catching sight of my reflection in the fractured glass of a wardrobe door.

The face staring back at was... familiar, yet not. My face. Or rather, the face of the girl whose body I now inhabited.

The sa features. The sa shape. Yet altered by choice.

Her bangs fell forward, a heavy curtain that obscured half her face. Glasses rested on her nose, fras so large they looked ridiculous, almost comical. A disguise, perhaps. A shield.

I didn’t change it. Not yet.

In this ruthless world, beauty was no blessing. It was bait. A lure for monsters far crueler than zombies.

Best to remain hidden, at least for now.

My hands trembled slightly as I gripped the newspaper I had found earlier. The paper was worn, edges frayed, ink smudged. But the image printed there... oh, the image.

Cassel.

My favorite villain. My beloved.

His eyes stared back at from the page—cold, calculating, and beautiful in their ruthlessness.

"Wait for , Cassel," I whispered, voice breaking, breath trembling against the silence. "This ti, I’ll protect you. From everything."

The words lingered in the air as I drew in a deep breath, placed my hand on the door, and pushed.

The world outside greeted like a slap.

Am I reckless? Absolutely.

Will I end up as zombie food? Very likely.

Do I regret it? Not for a single heartbeat.

The corridors reeked of dust and rot. I ran. My footsteps echoed, carrying through the building’s hollow veins. By so miracle, I was on the first floor, and within minutes, I burst out of the dormitory.

The sky overhead was gray, the kind of gray that suffocates all color, swallowing the world whole.

But I had no ti to marvel—or to breathe.

Because at the outer gate... they waited.

A horde.

Thirty, maybe more, clustered against the chained iron gate. Their hands clawed, nails screeching against the tal, jaws snapping open and closed like grotesque marionettes. Their moans rose in a discordant chorus, hungry, unending.

And beyond them... freedom.

"Damn it," I hissed under my breath. "What now?"

Worse still, the courtyard sward with stragglers—zombies wandering aimlessly, staggering this way and that.

I froze, pressing my back against the wall. My breath caught in my throat, loud, too loud, surely loud enough for them to hear—

But nothing happened.

Seconds ticked by.

Then a minute.

Another.

And yet... none of them turned. None lunged. None even looked my way.

My skin prickled.

This... this wasn’t normal.

The novel had made it clear: zombies were sensitive, attuned to human presence with a predator’s instinct. They didn’t need eyes or ears to find you. The sll of blood, the thrum of life—they should have sensed imdiately.

So why... why did they ignore ?

Heart pounding, I decided to test it.

A lone zombie staggered a few ters away, dragging one twisted leg across the ground.

I took a step forward.

Then another.

Slow. Careful.

Until only two steps separated us.

The creature’s head lolled to the side. Its teeth snapped mindlessly at the air. And then—it turned.

Not toward . But away.

And walked right past.

My breath hitched.

God... could this be it? My golden finger?

An ability. A power. Sothing unseen, sothing unntioned in the original story.

Sothing that made invisible to them.

The realization shook , but relief flooded through just as quickly. Whatever this was, whatever the reason—it was mine. My salvation. My weapon.

And if it brought closer to Cassel, then I would embrace it without question.

But safety from zombies didn’t an safety from the world.

Humans. They would be my true danger now.

Because what is an apocalypse if not the stripping away of civilization? Laws, morality, conscience—things once binding—now shattered.

Already, I knew what kind of monsters walked these ruined streets. n and won who had cast aside restraint, who had given in to their darkest desires. Murderers. Predators. The kind who would laugh as they spilled blood, and still be followed by others desperate enough to trade freedom for the illusion of safety.

If I were to survive, I would have to walk among monsters and hope they never saw the girl hiding beneath the glasses and the bangs.

No matter. I had a path. I would take the roads swarming with zombies. Let others fear them. For , they were shields, barriers between myself and humanity’s cruelty.

Still, calm as I appeared on the outside, my heart trembled.

The sight of them—those pale, half-rotted faces, the gaping mouths, the ruined eyes—it was enough to twist my stomach into knots. If I were weak like my sisters, I would have fainted already.

My sisters.

The thought ca unbidden.

Did my family even know I was gone? Would they cry for ? Would my mother shed a single tear?

A bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it.

"No. She’ll probably just curse for troubling her precious son," I muttered, voice sharp with mockery—and grief.

But I didn’t have ti to dwell.

I had a gate to climb.

No more hesitation. No searching for other exits. I didn’t have the luxury of ti, or mories of this body’s past to guide .

I needed to get out. I needed to find today’s date, my location, and my bearings.

I needed to find Cassel.

And if fate was kind... to et him before City A swallowed him whole.

Clang.

The chain on the gate rattled as I touched the cold, rusted tal.

Behind , the groans of the dead swelled.

Above , the gray sky darkened further, clouds swelling heavy with rain.

And in that mont, as my hands gripped the iron, as my feet pressed against the bars, I couldn’t help but wonder—

Was this the first step toward salvation?

Or the first step toward my doom?