December 16th, 2024
6:00 a.m.
Taguig City
Loud, rapid thuds echoed from the second floor, rattling the silence of dawn.
"Freyah Lima! You've lost your mind! Did you really murder soone last night!" Gwenette's furious scream cut through the house, followed by the chaotic pounding of footsteps as three figures charged down the staircase.
Gwenette led the pack, wielding a broom like a weapon. Behind her, Monica clutched a plastic chair in both hands, and Harley—at the rear—gripped an iron for clothes, its cord still dragging behind him.
All three skidded to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, faces pale, hearts pounding as their eyes locked onto the person responsible for their outrage.
Freyah Lima sat calmly on the living room sofa, the door behind her barricaded by the heavy furniture. Her expression was infuriatingly serene, her lips curved into a smile as she sipped iced coffee from a plastic bottle. Dressed in her favorite oversized purple hoodie and black skinny jeans, she looked far too comfortable for soone accused of murder.
"Good morning," she greeted cheerfully, as if nothing was amiss.
The three hesitated, unsure now if they were being paranoid. Still, Monica forced herself to step forward, the chair trembling slightly in her grip. She refused to believe Freyah would hurt them—after all, they were best friends.
"I-I heard everything," Monica stamred, swallowing hard. "Harley told us you... killed soone last night. And—and there was a man tied up, too! Freyah, please, tell it's not true. This has to be a misunderstanding."
Silence hung heavy in the air, the tension almost suffocating.
Then Freyah chuckled. Not the sweet, lighthearted laugh they knew—but sothing darker, sharper. It sent chills down Monica's spine.
"Of course, I haven't killed anyone—yet, in this life," Freyah replied cryptically, swirling her coffee bottle. "The only things I've slain so far are zombies and monsters. I'm not a murderer yet in this life."
Monica's face was drained of color. "What...what do you an by 'yet in this life'?"
Gwenette's eyes narrowed, glowing faintly red for the briefest mont. Then her breath hitched. "She's not lying."
Freyah raised an eyebrow, intrigued. So I was right. Gwenette's ability works like a lie detector.
"But what do you an by that?!" Monica insisted, voice cracking.
Freyah shrugged, holding up three fingers. "It's one of our three favorite tropes, rember? Reincarnation. Isekai. And..."
"Regression," Gwenette and Monica whispered in unison, eyes widening with dawning horror.
Freyah grinned. "See? We really are the three bears."
"No way..." Gwenette whispered, backing up a step. "She's not lying. She's really not lying! Monsters? Zombies? You're serious?!"
Harley, who had been silently retreating toward the kitchen to look for another exit, froze mid-step, clutching his iron tighter as he glanced sideways at the others.
"Regression... in an apocalypse?" Monica repeated, voice barely above a whisper.
"Yep," Freyah confird, taking another sip from her drink.
Gwenette nearly dropped the broom. "No cap! She's not lying! Wahhhh—!"
Her scream echoed through the house—only to be cut short by Monica smacking her upside the head.
"Get a grip!" Monica hissed.
"Wait... Wait..." Monica shook her head in disbelief. "I an, I love these tropes too, but I don't want them happening for real. Freyah, are you sure you're not just... hallucinating? Ate sothing weird? Maybe you—"
"She's. Not. Lying!" Gwenette insisted, exasperated.
"You keep saying that!" Monica shot back. "I get that you're obsessed with this stuff, but—"
"As skeptical as ever," Freyah muttered, shaking her head. "And that's what I missed about our grumpy bear."
With a click, she turned on the TV, holding up the remote like a winning card.
The screen flickered to life.
But instead of the usual morning shows, all channels displayed the sa ssage: No Signal or a complete snowy static screen.
Freyah didn't falter. She switched to YouTube, opening the live page of JN Network, one of the country's largest local news stations. A recording from last night began playing—chaos unfolding across the screen. News anchors trembled as footage of screaming civilians filled the air. People turning into flesh-hungry monsters, their eyes lifeless, biting others who, in turn, transford into the sa grotesque beings. Explosions. Vehicles crashing. Fires spreading. People running for their lives!
She flipped through more news channels—international ones this ti. The horror was global.
Monica's hand flew to her mouth. "This... this can't be real..."
Gwenette collapsed onto her knees, the broom clattering to the floor. "I wanted reincarnation and isekai—not the apocalypse! Not this trope! This is a nightmare!"
Harley, still clutching his phone, desperately dialed his aunt's number. The call failed before it even rang.
Freyah shut the TV off with a click. The silence that followed was deafening. She was also like this the first ti. So knew too well what they were feeling right now, disbelief, horror and panic.
"Follow ," she said quietly, already heading upstairs.
Monica exchanged a worried glance with Gwenette before helping her to her feet. The two followed Freyah in stunned silence.
Harley remained frozen, eyes darting between the blank screen and his unresponsive phone. His breath ca shallow and ragged.
"Auntie, co on, answer the phone."
Then, a voice spoke behind him.
"Go after them. Follow her."
Harley spun around so fast he nearly dropped the iron.
A tall, impossibly handso man with gentle, regal features stood behind him, his expression calm yet commanding.
It was him.
The man from last night.
The one who had perford so kind of... sorcery.
Florence narrowed his gaze, voice low and asured.
"If you want to survive in a world on the brink of collapse, you'd do well to stick with her. Lady Freyah Lima may be your only hope."
Then, with a swirl of his black coat, he disappeared into the kitchen.
Harley, shaken, stared at the empty space where Florence had stood.
He took a breath, gripped his iron tighter. He looked one last ti in his phone then followed the others upstairs.
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