Into the Apocalypse: Saving My Favorite Villain

The clash of battle rang sharp and deafening around me, a chaotic symphony woven from the screams of the living and the guttural howls of the dead.

The stench of blood, rot, and death choked the air.

After months in this world, I was no longer repulsed by it... or perhaps, if I were honest, it had never truly unsettled me to begin with.

Ever since I realized that the zombies would not attack me—no matter what I did—fear had long since abandoned me. Their grotesque forms, their foul odor... none of it stirred anything within me anymore.

And now, of all times... their presence was welcome.

No—more than welcome.

I was grateful for them.

A shield to guard me.

Allies in my trial.

Their numbers were overwhelming, and still they came—endless, unrelenting. Unfortunately for the others, the main road lay nearly bare, offering no refuge, no buildings to flee into, no place to hide.

Everything... was in my favor.

Fortune stood firmly at my side.

If I failed to seize this moment—to grow, to rely on my own strength—then perhaps I had no right to survive in this world at all.

If I could not gather my courage now, if I could not fight with my own power... then I had no place standing beside my beloved villain in this broken world.

In this world... if I wished to be worthy of living, then I had to be capable.

Capable of wielding a weapon.

Capable of fighting.

And capable... of killing.

Yes.

I had to be.

And now... this was my chance to change.

I gripped a length of iron I had found after a long search.

A laugh almost tore from my throat—because the rod bore an uncanny resemblance to the one that had pierced my chest, killing me... and casting me into this world.

And I did laugh.

I laughed until tears streamed down my face.

My skin bore scattered scratches, dried blood clinging here and there—but nothing serious.

If anything... I felt power surging through me.

With grim resolve, I dragged the iron rod behind me, its end scraping along the ground as I carried it loosely at my side.

Step by step, I advanced toward my target.

My gaze never wavered. I did not blink.

I walked—through the zombies, through the dead—moving calmly, without pause, because the path before me always cleared, as though prepared just for me.

It was as if fate itself had acknowledged my decision... and laid out the road ahead.

All that remained... was for me to act.

No one seemed to notice me.

How could they? In a battle where the slightest mistake meant death, and the smallest distraction was fatal...

Everyone had been scattered by the swarm, each too busy fighting for their own survival.

And then—

I stood behind him.

A man struggling against three zombies, using his ability. At first, he had been impressive—raising walls of earth to keep them at bay.

But now... after so long, his strength was spent.

Abilities in this ruined world were strange things. Overuse led to complete exhaustion; yet those who pushed themselves to the brink time and time again were far more likely to evolve and grow stronger.

Of course, there were no "cores" hidden in zombie skulls like in those absurd movies. There were methods to strengthen one’s power—but nothing came without a price. Relentless training was essential.

As for the man before me—

He could barely breathe, his face twisted in a repulsive grimace.

Unable to use his ability any longer, he had resorted to weapons.

Knives.

Nothing more.

Firearms had long since run dry, discarded somewhere unknown.

He noticed me as he fell to the ground, desperately fending off the zombies with what little strength he had left.

Our eyes met.

In that instant, I moved—swiftly shoving aside the zombie that had been about to sink its teeth into him.

His eyes lit up.

Did he think he had been saved?

How laughable.

This... was the bastard who had tried to humiliate me before. The one who had touched me. The one who had driven me to the brink of ending my life—abandoning this world... and the one person I loved within it.

And he thought I would let him live?

If I did not intend to take my revenge with these very hands, I would have never come near such filth—let alone saved him.

Perhaps... if it had been someone else—

If another person had stood in my place—they might have hesitated.

It was a life, after all.

How could one extinguish it so easily?

I do not know if everyone feels this calm during their first true act of killing.

But for me...

It meant nothing.

I thought of nothing.

Nothing at all.

I raised the rusted iron rod with both hands, lifting it high above my head.

My eyes locked onto the man—panting, sprawled helplessly on the ground.

I watched his eyes widen in terror.

Watched his body tremble.

Watched shock and fear twist into rage and hatred.

Watched him try—desperately—to crawl away, to stand, to escape.

Futile.

I was not foolish enough to wait for him to recover.

In a single moment—

That was all it took.

Perhaps because I could not even stomach the thought of him as a living human being... I imagined I was slaughtering a wretched pig, not a man.

He had only enough time to release a piercing scream that drew every gaze.

Then—

He lay there.

At my feet.

Drowning in his own blood.

The iron rod had plunged deep into his chest—

The same way I had died.

Perhaps because I knew... that it was the quickest, the most certain way—I drove it straight into the center of his chest.

Those wide, hateful eyes fixed on me until the very end... slowly lost their light.

And yet—

They remained open.

I knew he was dead.

He had to be.

The strike had been perfect.

And still—

I tore the rod free... and drove it into his chest again.

And again.

And again.

At some point, his blood splattered across my face, soaking into my clothes.

I did not notice.

I did not care.

I did not stop.

The screams of the men who had been fighting around me faded.

I did not care.

The sound of battle itself disappeared.

I did not care.

My body trembled uncontrollably—

I did not care.

I cared for nothing.

Thought of nothing.

Perhaps I looked like a machine—performing the same motion over and over in cold, mechanical repetition.

I let myself sink into that urge, abandoning fear, anxiety... everything that made me human.

And then—

I felt it.

As though I were drifting further and further away from this world...

As though a fragile thread within me was on the verge of snapping.

And I knew—

If that thread broke...

There would be no way back.

I would no longer be Rosalia.

I would no longer be myself.

I knew it.

I felt it.

And still...

I could not stop.

If this was the price I had to pay to become strong—

To stand beside Cassel—

Then I would pay it.

Willingly.

I always had been.

...

Suddenly—

A hand seized mine.

Warm.

Familiar.

My movements halted against my will.

I was enveloped in an aura—powerful, overwhelming... and achingly familiar.

Those gloved hands—black as night—closed around mine, gently taking the iron rod from my grasp.

And in the next instant—

It disintegrated.

Fading into invisible particles as though it had never existed.

A breath brushed against my neck, warm and real.

Heat rose beneath my skin.

And for the first time—

I felt...

Alive.

Finally.

My lips parted, my voice barely more than a whisper:

"Cae..."