Chapter 1

POV: Amara

The harsh, light of my laptop screen was the sole source of illumination in my dark bedroom, reflecting off my glasses with a dull glare while a persistent, throbbing headache pounded against my temples. It was half-past three in the morning. The air around me felt thick, heavy with the stale scent of cold coffee I had forgotten hours ago, mingled with the quiet, continuous hum of the old air conditioner fighting a losing battle to cool the stifling room.

On the glowing screen, the reading site was flashing the end of Chapter Forty of The Dawn of Redemption—the very web novel I had spent the last three hours mentally tearing apart.

What kind of utter trash was this? How could an author pack so much sheer stupidity into a single story and call it a popular novel?

The plot was a cheap, dramatic joke. A world collapsing under a mysterious red mist that transformed half of humanity into bloodthirsty, unforgiving monsters. And right at the center of this nightmare stood the supporting female character who coincidentally shared my name: Amara. A girl so nauseatingly naive it made me want to gag. She possessed an ancestral jade necklace inherited from her family—a necklace that secretly housed a hidden spiritual dimension and miraculous healing energy. And what did this idiot do with it? She handed it over on a silver platter to her "best friend," Tiffany, who had mastered the art of playing the helpless victim. Amara then degraded herself into a glorified servant and pack mule for the arrogant male lead, Kyllian, spending her days cooking, washing, and hauling heavy supplies, only to be brutally slaughtered in Chapter Fifty as zombie bait so the two main leads could escape safely.

"Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic," I muttered with bitter disdain, running both hands through my hair as I stared at the trashy details on the screen.

I opened the comment section at the bottom of the page and didn't hesitate for a second to draft a biting, razor-sharp review:

[If this miserable world requires a magical necklace to earn basic respect, Amara should take that necklace, loot every supermarket and armory in the city dry, and leave this toxic trash duo to be devoured by monsters at the very first turn. Stupidity is unforgivable, even in the apocalypse!]

I slammed the "Post" button, then closed my laptop with a hard snap that echoed through the quiet room. I collapsed onto my mattress, muttering into the darkness as I drifted off to sleep: "If I were in her shoes... I wouldn't give either of them a single drop of water."

I had no idea the universe was about to take my sarcasm literally.

***

It wasn't the morning sun that woke me, nor was it the familiar blare of my phone alarm.

The first thing that brought me back to consciousness was a sharp, acrid burning at the back of my throat, as if I were inhaling chemical fumes. A heavy, nauseating stench filled the air—a vile mix of burnt ozone and the rotting stench of decaying flesh under a scorching sun. In the background, a dull, terrifying rhythm reverberated: heavy metallic thuds slamming against concrete walls, followed by the crunch of breaking bones and desperate, blood-curdling human screams echoing from somewhere nearby.

My eyes flew open in sheer panic.

I wasn't in my small, peaceful bedroom. There was no white ceiling, no posters on the wall, no wooden desk.

I was lying on a rough, uncomfortable rear bench inside a massive 4x4 armored truck. The windows were reinforced with thick steel plates secured by heavy bolts, and the space around me was crammed with wooden crates smelling of canned rations and military supplies. The truck lurked and shuddered violently, sending my head crashing against the steel door frame.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a battering ram. I raised a trembling hand to touch my neck.

There. Tucked under the collar of my rough khaki shirt was a cool, smooth piece of stone. The ancestral jade necklace, carved with ancient, intricate patterns that were horrifyingly familiar from the novel's descriptions.

"Amara! Did you pass out again?!"

The side door of the truck swung open with violent force, letting in a gust of cold air soaked in the stench of blood and gunpowder. Standing at the entrance was a girl with neatly styled blonde hair despite the chaos outside, her eyes glistening with perfectly manufactured, dramatic tears.

Tiffany.

And towering right behind her was a broad-shouldered man in a worn tactical uniform, a rifle slung over his shoulder. His expression was cold, hard, and utterly detached as he looked down at me the way a trader looks at cheap, inconvenient cargo.

Kyllian.

My mind pieced the nightmare together in a terrifying fraction of a second.

The novel... wasn't just a story I had read before bed. It was real. Three days had already passed since the red mist swept across the globe, mutating half the population into monsters. And I was standing right at ground zero—the exact moment where Amara's exploitation was set to begin before she was thrown to the wolves.

Before Tiffany could open her mouth to deliver her usual manipulative sob story, a sharp, prickling sensation flared at the base of my skull.

It felt as though an invisible switch had been flipped inside my head.

In an instant, my perception expanded exponentially. My senses were no longer confined to the steel walls of the truck or what my eyes could see; they stretched outward like a living, razor-sharp radar in every direction.

Three hundred meters to the east, behind the collapsed concrete wall of a warehouse, I picked up the slow, heavy movements of thirteen decaying corpses reeking of death. Fifty meters to the north, inside an abandoned commercial building, I detected the rapid, terrified heartbeats of two humans hiding silently behind a wooden barricade.

A real-time mental radar for humans, zombies, and hidden danger, operating with absolute precision inside my mind.

I mapped out the entire surrounding area in seconds. I knew every blind spot, every structural weakness, and every safe escape route.

I drew a slow, quiet breath and leaned back against the seat, calmly tying the laces of my tactical boots.

Tiffany stepped closer to the door, placing a hand over her chest with a trembling, tearful voice: "Amara... thank goodness you're awake! It's so terrifying outside. And that necklace around your neck... it gives off this strange energy that makes me feel safe. Could you lend it to me just for a little while so we can stay safe? You know I'm much weaker than you and I can't handle this fear."

Kyllian adjusted his rifle strap, his voice flat and devoid of warmth: "Stop the drama, Amara. Time is running out and this sector isn't safe. Grab those supply crates and start organizing the rations. We don't have time for your childish panic attacks."

I looked at the two of them in complete silence, taking in their arrogant confidence—their absolute certainty that I would submit as I always did. Meanwhile, the mental radar in my head was showing me exactly where the next waves of danger were lurking, and where the most valuable stashes of supplies were hidden in the adjacent streets.

A slow, cold smile touched my lips—a look neither of them expected. I raised my hand and lightly touched the cool jade pendant beneath my shirt.

The game had just begun, and the rules of this story were about to be rewritten by my hands alone... and I wasn't going to be the victim this time