Chapter 2 Beginning of a Nightmare (2)

A week before Stage 0, Tilus received a mysterious text message from an unknown source calling themselves "X."

"Hi, Tilus, you can call me X. A catastrophe is coming. You have three options:

A: Run away from the city

B: Pray for the best

C: Lock yourself in the house and secure food and water supplies in advance for two weeks."

Tilus stared at his phone, bewildered. "What kind of joke is this?" he murmured. Curiosity got the best of him, and he typed a quick reply.

"Hey, who are you? What are you talking about?"

The response came almost instantly. "It doesn't matter who I am. You only need to know that I'm on your side and can help you survive."

"What nonsense are you spouting?" Tilus fired back, but no more texts followed. He dismissed it as some elaborate prank and went about his day.

Day [1]

The morning sky burned with streaks of red and orange as natural disasters ripped through the world. Tilus sat glued to his television, eyes darting between collapsing buildings, smoke rising in the distance, and panicked broadcasters trying to maintain composure. Each new scene twisted his stomach tighter.

He looked out the window, half expecting the ground to crack open beneath him, the city to split in two. Outside, people ran, their arms full of whatever supplies they could snatch up. His hands still shook from the shock of it all. The message had been right.

His phone buzzed again, and he instinctively grabbed it.

"Like I told you, right? Do you believe me now?" The message was followed by a smirking face emoji. Tilus cursed under his breath, his gaze narrowing at the screen. This person had predicted it all, and yet they remained silent until now.

He rubbed his face, the roughness of his palms dragging against stubble he hadn't bothered to shave. Two weeks' worth of supplies—he had stocked up just in time. His father's voice echoed in his mind, urging him to always prepare.

His phone pinged again.

"Why me? Why did you help me?"

A pause. Tilus could hear the distant rumble of explosions outside, the faint screams of chaos beyond his walls.

"Because I need your help."

His breath caught in his throat. He straightened up, back rigid. Fingers hovering, he replied, "What do you need help with?"

"You'll know soon. Focus on surviving first."

Tilus clenched his jaw, the familiar knot of frustration tightening in his chest. "How do I know you're not trying to manipulate me?"

"You're free to think whatever you like. Just know that only I can help you survive."

He was about to reply when the knock at the door pulled his attention away.

"Tilus, we need to talk."

William's voice. Steady. Too calm for the panic outside.

Tilus sighed, dropping the phone onto the desk. He ran his hands through his hair, pausing for a moment. He was about to reach for the doorknob when his phone lit up again—a PDF file. His brow furrowed as he opened it.

"This is…"

His breath quickened. The journal was filled with detailed accounts of events, of monsters and battles that hadn't happened yet. Pictures, maps, strategies—it was like something out of a nightmare, and yet it felt all too real.

He opened the door just enough to tell William to take some supplies from the kitchen. "I'm not coming out for a while," he muttered, closing the door behind him.

The next six days were a blur of planning and preparation. Tilus devoured the journal's contents, eyes glued to the screen as the days outside grew darker. By the seventh day, the reality of the situation weighed down on him like a stone.

[Day 7]

Day 7 marked the destined arrival of the apocalypse. Tilus felt a knot of hesitation in his chest with every step he took downstairs. As he entered the dining room, he was surprised to see all his housemates gathered at the table. Given the chaos outside, he expected them to have scattered. But the barriers around the city meant escape wasn't an option for anyone.

"Look who finally decided to join us," Leon teased as Tilus walked in.

"Sorry, I got caught up," Tilus mumbled, taking a seat. "What are we having for dinner?"

Leon's grin grew wider. "For someone who's been locked away for almost a week, you look surprisingly fine."

Tilus picked at his food, his mind drifting back to the journal. He wasn't truly listening to their conversation until Leon's voice cut through again.

"Tilus, what do you think?"

"Huh?" He blinked, snapping back to the present. "About what?"

Leon rolled his eyes. "The Nekrala Virus, man. Have you even read the news? Today's the last day for those pills. What's going to happen to us after that? Think we'll turn into monsters? Maybe I'll grow a tail and fur," he added with a laugh.

The conversation shifted as William, the composed and often serious leader of the group, spoke up. His voice cut through the lighthearted banter with a tone of urgency.

"We need to gather all the information we can. The barriers around the cities make it clear—escape isn't an option. And we can't rely on outside help anymore."

Ben, the fitness enthusiast with a stubborn streak, crossed his arms. "How do you know that? Isn't the military patrolling the city?"

"They are," William replied, his voice laced with irritation. "But the situation could spiral at any moment. We need to prepare for the worst."

Another voice chimed in, light and conversational. It was Jasmine, the senior art major, always outgoing and warm. "I heard prices for food are insane now. A pack of noodles costs 100,000 VND. And they say if you don't take the pills, you could die or… worse."

Tilus knew the truth. The pills only delayed the inevitable. Without them, the infected would go through phases—each more terrifying than the last. First came the red eyes and personality shifts. Then, death. But that wasn't the end. Some would revive as zombies, their bodies twisted and mutating. The worst would become full-fledged monsters, beyond saving.

Should he tell them? Would they even believe him?

The news in the background painted a bleak picture—overrun hospitals, makeshift wards in arenas and parking lots, exhausted volunteers risking their lives to treat the sick. Social media was flooded with images of ghostly streets and empty stores. The world outside was crumbling faster than anyone could prepare for.

Tilus glanced at his phone, scrolling through the texts from X. He needed to be ready. The journal's warnings were becoming all too real.

His thoughts were interrupted by William, who laid out a grim plan. "Tomorrow morning, we head out early. We need to secure a convenience store, take what we can before the chaos gets worse."

"Are you serious?" Ben's voice was sharp. "We don't even know what's going to happen after midnight. You want us to risk everything?"

Jasmine tried to mediate, her voice soft. "Maybe we could get supplies from the army. They were handing out rations earlier—"

"They're not handing out anything anymore," William cut her off. "A mob attacked the last supply truck today. The army stopped aid after that."

Leon's voice joined the tension, grim and resigned. "If we go out there, we could die. People are desperate."

Tilus kept quiet, his thumb hovering over his phone screen as he read X's last message again. If things went as X predicted...

Suddenly, the room fell silent as an eerie voice broke through the chatter. It wasn't anyone in the room—it came from a small translation device on the table.

"Stage 0 has concluded. Stage 1 is being prepared."

Everyone's phones lit up simultaneously. The same image appeared on their screens—an ominous figure Tilus recognized all too well: Verismon. The apocalypse had just entered its next phase.