Chapter One: The Calm Before Chaos
Brooklyn, New York – 6:02 AM
ALEX — P.O.V
Air rushed into my lungs as if I had been drowning.
I shot upright, chest heaving, heart racing… and froze.
Soft sheets. Clean scent. No blood. No smoke. No suffocating pressure of death closing in.
I lifted my gaze slowly.
The ceiling wasn't cracked concrete from a ruined bunker—it was smooth plaster.
The window wasn't shattered and covered in ash—it let in the soft dawn light of Brooklyn, warm and alive.
My brows pulled together.
What…? Where am I?
I turned my head and scanned the room.
My room.
The room I had at sixteen—before the sky turned red, before the monsters came, before trust became a luxury I could no longer afford.
The slightly chipped desk.
The faint water stain in the corner wall.
The untouched weight set that I swore I would use "tomorrow."
I swung my feet to the floor and walked toward the mirror, pulse steady but mind spinning.
And when I saw my reflection… my breath caught.
Gone were the scars that carved my skin.
Gone was the hardened jawline.
Gone was the streak of silver that marked every sleepless night of survival.
Staring back at me was a face too young, too soft—
But the fire in my eyes… that hadn't changed.
I narrowed my gaze.
Sixteen. I'm sixteen again.
This wasn't a dream.
The taste of blood still lingered at the back of my throat.
Memories of fire and betrayal clung to me like smoke.
But outside… birds chirped. Cars moved. People lived.
Life hadn't ended.
Not yet.
---
The hum of traffic drifted through the cracked window.
Brooklyn's familiar rhythm wrapped around me—a heartbeat that had no idea it was six months away from dying.
I sat quietly at the edge of my bed, fingers gripping the sheets, posture controlled, breath steady.
No panic.
No screaming.
No confusion.
Just cold, focused clarity.
I died. I remember dying. I remember the sword, the blood… the betrayal.
Amanda's mocking smile.
Brandon's triumphant face.
So why was I here?
Regression?
Time reversal?
A second chance?
The questions didn't matter.
What mattered was this:
The apocalypse was coming.
Six months.
Six months until the System descended and the world drowned.
And this time…
I wasn't just planning to survive it.
I was going to dominate it.
---
AUTHOR – P.O.V
6:30 AM
Alex moved with purpose.
He dressed quickly, slung a bag over his shoulder, and stepped into the cool morning air. His first objective was simple:
Scout.
Plan.
Prepare.
His family had no idea what awaited them. They wouldn't believe him even if he tried to explain.
His mother had died giving birth to him.
His father remarried, had another child, and later died in a car accident—leaving behind a quiet, fractured household.
Janet, the eldest—smart, calm, composed.
The kind of person who handled everything with grace.
Mia, his step-sister—sharp-tongued, impulsive, always challenging everything.
Diana, his stepmother—distant, observant, calculated.
A pillar of strength in the former apocalypse.
But emotionally?
They had never truly connected.
In his old life, he drifted away from all of them, letting chaos separate what little family he had left.
This time would be different.
This time, he would protect them.
Guide them.
Strengthen them.
And those who followed him… would become his.
---
The smell of frying bacon met him before he even reached the kitchen.
Diana's cooking, he thought.
He stepped inside—and stopped.
Diana stood at the counter, humming softly, sunlight painting gold along her skin. A white tank top and dark fitted jeans clung lightly to her form, effortless yet impossibly captivating.
Not seductive—just naturally, dangerously beautiful.
Elegant posture, soft curves, quiet strength.
A woman who carried her own gravity.
Alex found himself staring… longer than he intended.
Her silhouette, her calm movements, the subtle rise and fall of her breathing—everything felt sharper to him now. More real. More vivid.
In the apocalypse, she had become something fierce.
Something powerful.
Something he respected…
and something he noticed far too late.
She reached into a cabinet, a strand of dark hair falling across her cheek. The sunlight traced the gentle slope of her neck, the proud line of her jaw—
Alex swallowed hard.
He wasn't a boy anymore.
And Diana wasn't simply his stepmother.
She turned as if sensing his gaze, eyes catching his—gray-green, guarded, but softened by something he couldn't name.
"Alex," she said quietly. "Do you need something?"
He stepped into the room, voice steady, eyes lingering just a fraction too long.
"Just passing through," he replied with a faint smile.
She didn't miss the look.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.
He moved closer—slow, deliberate—stopping right in front of her. They stood almost the same height.
"You look beautiful," he said simply.
Her breath hitched. She stepped back, composure slipping for the briefest moment.
"You're acting strange," she murmured.
"How so?"
"You barely spoke to me for six months. And now you suddenly say something like that? It's… unexpected."
He nodded, acknowledging his past self.
"That was true," he said lightly. "But I'm changing."
Her eyes held his a moment longer—curious, uncertain, but not cold.
Then she turned back to the stove, shoulders taut in a way she probably didn't realize he noticed.
---
7:05 AM
Dinning room
The familiar chaos of family life filled the house—bickering, clattering dishes, complaints about school. Janet sat at the table, legs crossed, scrolling her phone like she owned the place. Mia slept face-first in a bowl of cereal.
I took a seat.
Janet looked up, head tilting. "You're up early. That's suspicious."
I shrugged. "Maybe I grew up overnight."
She blinked, caught off guard. "…Did you just make a mature joke?"
Even Diana paused mid-slice of bread to look at me.
While Mia stared at me intensely, during my past time I hadn't realised that she had a crush on me, I only had eyes for Amanda,but this time I am not making the same mistake again.
I kept my expression neutral, calm—something the old me never managed.
They didn't need to know the truth. Not yet.
Janet muttered, "Weird," but a tiny smile tugged at her lips.
Breakfast continued—warm, loud, alive. Everything the apocalypse had stolen from me once.
Not again.
---
7:20 AM
Alex stepped into the streets with calculated steps.
Cars honked.
Stores bustled.
People laughed.
All of them blissfully unaware that their world would soon tear itself apart.
He had mapped routes, marked escape paths, noted future supply points.
This wasn't nostalgia.
It was reconnaissance.
In his past life, when the System first descended, people thought it was a joke. A prank.
Then the monsters came.
Then the screams started.
And civilization ended in weeks.
Last time, he chose the Warrior class.
Cool name. Straightforward. Decent skills. Enough to make him a respected powerhouse—but not enough to dominate.
Not enough to survive what mattered.
He remembered the strongest among them:
The Necromancer.
A unique class.
One-of-a-kind.
Once chosen, no one else could ever have it.
It took seven of the world's greatest powerhouses to bring him down. And even then, they failed to kill him outright—he still managed to drag three of them to hell with him.
That was the level Alex needed.
That was the level he would reach.
This time, he would claim the Necromancer class before anyone else could.
Two ways existed to gain a class:
Choose one directly from the System.
Or awaken one naturally at Level 1 through combat—far rarer, far more powerful.
Those who awakened naturally gained not just a class, but a talent that perfectly matched it.
Most people never awakened at all. The System simply assigned them whatever was left, often mediocre.
Some classes rivaled the Necromancer—Frost Adept, Flame Sovereign, Blood Monarch—but the window to obtain such power was small.
And awakening without the System's help?
Almost impossible.
You had to kill monsters bare-handed or with cold weapons as guns had stopped working—creatures faster, stronger, and deadlier than any human.
Zombies were the easiest… yet highly contagious, often in swarms.
Alex shook his head.
Last time, he followed the crowd.
This time?
He would forge his own path.
He would rise before the world fell.
And when the apocalypse came again…
He would be ready.
---