Regressing Through the Apocalypse with the Third Male Lead-Chapter 3 - : Regression and Transmigration 3

The supermarket loomed ahead, its bright lights stark against the afternoon sun as Freyah parked her car.

Her hands clenched the steering wheel, heart pounding louder than the engine's idle hum. She inhaled sharply, trying to steady herself. No room for mistakes.

Stepping out, she moved with quiet urgency, slipping into the nearby phone store. The fluorescent lights felt too harsh, the cashier's gaze lingering too long as she selected the cheapest phone and a fresh SIM card. But Freyah kept her head down, avoided eye contact, and paid in cash. No questions. No delays.

The moment she had the device in hand, she marched straight into the women's restroom inside the supermarket—one of the few places without CCTV coverage.

In the echoing silence of the tiled room, she set up the phone with practiced efficiency. Her fingers dialed three numbers, each press of the keypad feeling heavier than the last.

When the line clicked, her voice was steady, but her pulse raced like a drum against her ribs.

"I got a tip—there are multiple men planting bombs across the Navotas Markets, Antipolo Markets, Iloilo Markets, Alabang Market, C5 Shell, and the main roads. There's only one hour left before they explode. Sound the warning signals. Get everyone to go home or stay inside, away from those places. Five days. I'll wait in five days."

She didn't wait for a response. Didn't give herself the chance to second-guess. The words had barely left her lips when she dropped the phone into the toilet bowl, watching the screen spark and die as it sank. One flush, and it was gone.

Exhaling slowly, Freyah stepped out of the restroom, blending back into the crowd. People bustled around her, oblivious to the storm brewing just beneath the surface of their reality. She glanced at her watch. 4:00 PM.

Time was slipping.

She tore through the supermarket aisles with purpose, loading cart after cart with groceries, bottled water, medical supplies—everything she could think of. Her phone buzzed relentlessly with food delivery confirmations as she placed rapid-fire orders, the notifications stacking up.

Faster. Keep moving.

Bags filled the backseat and trunk of her car, overflowing to the point that she had to rearrange the boxes twice just to fit them all. Her savings? Nearly gone. Yet the ache in her chest only sharpened when she thought of what was coming.

As she pulled out of the parking lot, the tension in the air had shifted.

Police cars swarmed the supermarket entrance, red and blue lights flashing against the glass. News broadcasts blared from the outdoor screens of nearby buildings, the voices of two rival networks overlapping with the same urgent message.

"Authorities have issued an immediate warning. Citizens are urged to stay indoors or return home due to a threat reported across major locations..."

Freyah barely spared them a glance. Her grip tightened on the wheel, her stomach twisting. It's working.

People were rushing home. Schools were closing early. Roads were emptying. She couldn't save everyone. But this...this was better than nothing.

She stopped at a gas station, filling her tank and spending the last of her money on extra containers of gasoline.

By the time she reached home, the sun was slipping lower, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet. 5:30 PM.

Her pulse quickened at the sight of the neatly stacked grocery bags and fast-food deliveries waiting at her gate, just as she'd instructed. A hollow sense of relief washed over her. Good. Everything's here.

She moved quickly, hauling the supplies inside. But as she made her third trip from the car, a low groan echoed from the living room.

Freyah froze.

Florence Plaridel.

The man she'd tied up earlier was awake—golden eyes sharp, furious, and unyielding as they locked onto hers. She completely forgot this strange phenomena.

She ignored him, even as his gaze followed her every step.

But before she could finish unloading, the doorbell rang.

She tensed. Another delivery?

But when she reached the gate, her breath caught.

Monica. Gwenette.

Her friends stood there, grinning like nothing in the world was wrong, waving excitedly.

Her chest tightened painfully, throat closing as she forced out a shaky laugh. Hah. Is this going to happen every time I see someone dearly alive again?

"Freyah!" Monica called, holding up a shopping bag. "Sorry we are late!"

Without thinking, Freyah ran to them. No words—just pure, desperate relief as she threw herself into their arms, hugging them fiercely.

"Whoa! What's—what's happening?" Monica yelped, startled.

"Are we celebrating something?" Gwenette asked, half-laughing but clearly confused.

Freyah only held on tighter. They're alive. They're here. That's all that matters.

"I just missed you two, you bears," she whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Monica pulled back, eyeing her with suspicion. "Okay, you're acting super weird. And also—you owe us double for the money we spent on that last-minute shopping spree."

Freyah forced a smile. "I'll pay you back. Promise." She took a breath, steadying herself. "But you're staying here tonight. No arguments."

The two exchanged glances, both raising their brows.

"Okay, seriously—what's going on?" Monica pressed, voice shifting from teasing to concerned.

Freyah opened the gate, her grip on their arms gentle but firm. "I'll explain inside. Please, just trust me."

But the moment they stepped into the living room, everything shattered.

Their eyes fell on Florence—bloodied, bound, glaring.

Gwenette screamed, the sound cutting like a knife through the air.

"Oh my God—what the hell, Freyah?!" Monica gasped, voice trembling.

Freyah moved before they could react further. A swift, precise blow to the back of their necks. They crumpled in her arms, unconscious.

Gently, she lowered them onto the couch, brushing their hair from their faces with a soft sigh.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice cracking. "You'll understand later."

She secured their cars in the garage, locked every door and window, then returned to the task of unloading supplies.

A voice, cold and mocking, cut through the silence.

"You're insane."

Florence. His mouth no longer gagged, those golden eyes burning with contempt.

"These are your friends, aren't they?" he sneered. "And you knock them out like enemies. Just like a demon would."

Freyah stilled.

Then, she knelt before him, tightening the ropes that bound him just a little more, making sure they held firm.

Her voice, calm yet deadly quiet, whispered close to his ear.

"If being a demon means keeping them alive, then so be it... Your Highness."

Florence's eyes narrowed, but his taunts died on his lips when he saw the flicker of raw pain behind her gaze.

She tied the cloth back over his mouth.

Then, she returned to unpacking. The clock ticked on.

Cuckoo...

The alarm sound made her freeze.

The lights flickered. Then, in a blink, every screen, every bulb, every hum of electricity died.

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Silence.

Suffocating. Absolute.

For five agonizing minutes, the world held its breath.

Then—

BAM.

7:00 pm.

The first explosion ripped through the night, a fiery bloom that painted the skyline red.

Sirens wailed. Flames consumed the horizon.

And Freyah whispered, brokenly,

"It's begun."