Regressing Through the Apocalypse with the Third Male Lead-Chapter 2 - . Regression and Transmigration 2

Freyah took a deep, shuddering breath as her fingers flew over the keypad of her phone, messaging her two closest friends in the group chat aptly named Delulu.

"I'll send you money. Buy as much food, drinks, medicine, and other supplies as you can. Use your own money, too—I'll pay you back double with a meal when I get my next paycheck. Bring everything to my house by 5 PM. No excuses."

She didn't wait for a reply before switching to her workmates' group chat, sending a similar message. One after another, she contacted everyone she could trust, her thumbs relentless against the screen. There was no time for explanations. Whether they believed her or not didn't matter—soon, they'd have no choice. Once the apocalypse started, disbelief would be the least of their concerns.

Finally, she posted on every social media platform she had, her message simple but chilling:

"The apocalypse begins today at 7 PM. These will be the safest places in Luzon:

1. NAIA Terminal 3 Airport – I will wait there for you for five days.

2. PMMA in Pangasinan.

3. The Batanes Group of Islands.

Avoid the military camp in Fort Santiago. Eight days from now, it will be destroyed by an evolved monster resembling a lizard. If anyone from the military sees this message, the monster's weakness is fresh water—not fire.

I'll post my next message on Day 2 of the apocalypse. Survive."

The screen went dark as she dropped her phone onto the bed. Silence filled the room.

Freyah clenched her fists, shutting her eyes as her breathing slowed. "The more people who survive... the more abilities will awaken. And the higher the chance of changing that future."

Her heart pounded at the memory—the devastation, the pain, the unbearable loss.

"Regression..." She whispered, voice trembling. "People who go back in time try to keep things the same. They cling to the future they know so they can use it as a guide. But what's the point of a guide if it only leads to ruin?"

Her eyes snapped open, hard with resolve. "I don't need a guide. I refuse to let things play out like before."

A surge of energy coiled deep within her chest, burning through her lungs, her heart—fierce and powerful. She felt it rise, igniting behind her eyes like fire. The glow reflected in her mirror, red and sharp.

"I brought my abilities back with me." Her lips twisted into a grin. "This time, I will rewrite everything."

Grabbing her bag, Freyah rushed downstairs, her footsteps echoing in the silent house.

The garage was dark, her car waiting in its usual spot. But the moment she reached for the door—

Cold steel pressed against her throat.

"Tell me where I am," a low voice murmured, calm yet edged with threat. "And who you're working for."

Freyah's body froze. Her pulse roared in her ears, but her mind sharpened like a blade.

Through the car window, she caught her reflection—pale, tense. Behind her, a man stood close, his face obscured by shadows. His grip on the knife was steady, lethal.

An enemy? No... if he knew who she was, he wouldn't be asking. He would've killed her already.

He doesn't know me.

The blade pressed harder, a sting of pain blooming along her neck. She felt the warm trickle of blood slide down her collarbone.

And then—

She laughed.

Loud. Unhinged. The kind of laughter that made her sound as if she'd finally snapped.

The man's grip faltered, just for a heartbeat.

That heartbeat was all she needed.

Her elbow drove into his ribs with brutal force. He grunted, the knife dragging along her skin but not deep enough to wound her fatally. Pain flared, but she didn't flinch.

Whirling around, Freyah moved to finish the fight—

But then she stopped cold.

A flickering screen materialized before her eyes, words glowing faintly in the air as if from another world.

{Florence Plaridel

Third Male Lead | Primrose Lady | Native of the World of Gaia | Transmigrator

Skills:

- Psychic Skill: Locked

- Physical Skill: Swordmaster

- Soul Skill: Healing Magic}

Freyah's breath caught. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"No way... someone from Primrose Lady..."

Florence Plaridel. A fictional character.

A man she had read about in her past life. The last novel she got her hands of.

And he was now on his knees before her, blood on his blade, confusion burning in his golden eyes.

Her psychic skill had activated—the power to see a person's name, role, and skill.

"A demon!"

"What are you?"

They both shouted in unison, glaring at each other with matching expressions of shock.

Freyah clutched her head, breath ragged, as pain throbbed behind her eyes. Her vision blurred for a heartbeat, but she shook it off, forcing herself to stay focused. Not now. I don't have time for this.

Florence lunged, face twisted in fury.

She moved faster.

Her foot slammed into his stomach in a brutal, calculated kick that sent him staggering back. He braced himself, teeth gritted, but she was already in motion. An elbow struck his jaw with a crack. His head snapped back, and his balance faltered.

But she wasn't done.

This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.

Grabbing the front of his collar, she twisted sharply, locking his neck in a hold. With a fierce grunt, she flipped him over her shoulder and slammed him into the cold concrete floor. The impact echoed through the garage with a heavy thud.

Her second skill: the physical skill—super strength.

Florence groaned, disoriented, but his hands were already twitching, struggling to rise.

No, you don't.

Freyah struck again, this time her knuckles connecting with the side of his neck in a clean, precise blow. His body jerked once before slumping limply into unconsciousness.

Silence.

Panting slightly, she straightened and scanned the dimly lit garage, heart pounding as the adrenaline faded. She needed to restrain him—fast. Her eyes landed on a coil of rope and a pack of zip ties tucked in the corner, half-forgotten from a DIY project she'd abandoned weeks ago.

Perfect.

Dropping to her knees, she worked quickly, binding his wrists and ankles with practiced efficiency. Tight, unyielding knots. No room for escape. A handkerchief from her glove compartment served as a makeshift gag, muffling any chance of him calling for help if he woke too soon.

Only when she was certain he was secured did she exhale, her pulse finally slowing.

What the hell were you doing here, Florence?

She hauled his limp body off the floor, the dead weight barely a strain against her enhanced strength, and carried him inside the house. The clock was ticking. Whatever he had planned, she couldn't afford distractions—not now. Not when everything was about to spiral out of control.

The moment his body hit the floor, Freyah turned back toward the garage, her steps quick, determined.

Focus. Stay sharp.

But when she caught her reflection in the rearview mirror, she stilled.

A thin gash trailed across her neck, the skin torn just minutes earlier. Now, it had already sealed shut. Only faint streaks of crimson remained, the blood drying on her pale skin.

Her third ability: the soul skill—regeneration.

The apocalypse hadn't just unleashed monsters. It had changed people.

Zombies. Beasts. And the survivors—humans who had been pushed beyond the brink, forced to evolve. The strongest had awakened abilities, powers forged through suffering and enlightenment. Psychic, physical, and soul skills. Each unlocked at different moments, triggered by sheer will or desperation.

There was no pattern. No fairness. Some people never awakened anything at all.

Freyah had unlocked all three. And she knew the cost.

She grabbed a pack of wet wipes, scrubbing the blood from her skin with sharp, methodical movements. The scent of antiseptic stung her nose, grounding her as she fought the lingering tremor in her hands.

By the time she finished, the city had come alive outside her window.

The streets were loud, busy—cars honking, vendors shouting, people laughing as they bustled along the sidewalks. Life continued. Unaware.

Unaware that everything was about to burn.

Freyah tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Her knuckles turned white.

Mere hours. That was all she had left. Hours before everything shattered.

She couldn't save everyone.

She couldn't even warn them.

Then a memory hit her with brutal clarity.

"It's my daughter's birthday... I should've stayed home that day. Maybe... Maybe she'll still be here."

"Old man, I can finally settle my debt to you," a grin escaped her lips.

There is still a way.

A way to save more.

Jaw tightened, Freyah pressed harder on the gas.