When the apocalypse first began, humanity received what were known as "blessings" from an unknown source—Skills. These blessings rekindled a flicker of hope, for although conventional weapons had proven ineffective against the monsters, Skills possessed the power to harm and even kill them.

Upon receiving a Skill, people were immediately infused with knowledge about it: how to use it, its effects, the cost, and its cooldown. This information settled seamlessly into their minds, as if the Skill had always been a part of them, honed and perfected through years of experience.

But for Ethan, it was different. When he acquired his Skill—Rewind—there was no such influx of understanding. No instructions, no clarity. Only the name. Lost and powerless, he became a deadweight, a burden to those who could fight.

Now, however, a whirlwind of excitement and hope surged in his chest. His so-called useless Skill had finally activated, and its information flooded his mind like a memory long forgotten. The Rewind ability allowed him to turn back time by 24 hours upon death. It activated automatically, with a 24-hour cooldown. The price of activation? Reliving the full agony of death upon revival.

"Hungh...!"

Ethan clutched his chest, gasping as a sudden wave of pain consumed him. It felt like his body was being crushed under the force of a thousand hammers, his nerves set alight with unbearable torment. The speed of his death had spared him the full brunt of the pain before, but now, revived and conscious, he felt every excruciating detail. It was nearly enough to drive him mad.

Seeing Ethan squirm and groan, the other refugees glanced at him with unease, instinctively stepping back. Pity? Camaraderie? Such notions had long since been crushed by the weight of despair.

"Ethan, are you okay?!"

Only one person among the refugees cared enough to approach him—a woman three or four years his junior, yet already in her 30s. Her golden hair shimmered faintly even though she hadn’t bathed in days, and her green eyes sparkled with concern, unmarred by the shadow of despair that had consumed so many others. Despite the grime and dust clinging to her face, her beauty remained undiminished, just as it had in her youth.

But one thing stood out—she was missing her left arm. Ethan remembered vividly how she had lost it. She had sacrificed it trying to save him.

“Were you hurt?!” she asked, concern deepening as she saw his painful writhing. “Let me heal you!”

Her hand began to glow with a soft green light, gently extending toward him. Slowly, the warm aura wrapped around his body, easing the pain, little by little.

After what felt like hours of agony compressed into minutes, Ethan finally managed to breathe deeply and relax. But while the physical pain faded, his mind was still racing.

'That pain... I can’t go through that torture again!' he thought, his heart pounding as he staggered to his feet and suddenly bolted.

"Ethan!"

The woman—the healer, Mary—called after him, her voice filled with worry. But by the time her words reached the air, he had already disappeared around a corner. She stood helpless, unable to catch him as he fled.

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"That thing..." Ethan muttered through chattering teeth, the grotesque image of the Last Boss seared into his memory. "It’ll come from the north! I have to get out of here before that happens. I need to escape... I don’t want to die!"

His voice cracked as he rambled to no one in particular, the madness of fear creeping into his words.

Ethan ran, and ran, and ran. Even as his legs screamed in protest and his lungs burned for air, he kept going. His vision blurred from exhaustion and fear, his mind clouded by disgust at his own cowardice. Tears of desperation streamed down his face.

“I can’t... I don’t want to die...” he muttered repeatedly, his words little more than a pitiful excuse. “Ah!”

Darkness enveloped his path, the sun had long since set, and the uneven ground became treacherous. He stumbled over a loose pebble and crashed to the ground, bruises blossoming across his skin as fresh pain surged through him, a stark reminder of what he’d endured after his revival.

“Hik! Uuuugh!”

Curled up like a fetus, he struck his fist against his own head, again and again, as if trying to punish himself for his weakness. He cried without restraint, his unsightly voice echoing in the dark, empty space.

He had run away like a coward, leaving the others behind, knowing full well what fate awaited them. His only thought had been to save himself. But now, safe and alone, the crushing guilt weighed on him like a ton of bricks.

*GRRRR!*

"...!"

A faint growling sound pierced through his self-loathing. 'Monsters?!' Panic gripped his heart. Alone in the dark, he was utterly defenseless. His Skill was still on cooldown, leaving him vulnerable.

'If I die again before the cooldown ends... I’ll die for real!'

It was a terrifying realization. A Skill couldn’t activate while on cooldown, meaning he would simply die this time, with no rewind to save him.

Ethan tried to stand, but something struck the back of his head, forcing him face-down into the dirt.

"Ugh...!" He groaned in pain, his shaky hand reaching to the back of his head.

Warm, wet blood was felt by his fingers, followed by a searing, burning sensation. "N-No...!" he whimpered, refusing to accept the reality of the situation. "Save me! Someone, please help!"

But the footsteps approaching him weren’t coming to help—they were coming to finish him off. In the darkness, he could make out the faint silhouettes of canines, their growls growing louder.

"Save—!"

The hounds pounced before he could finish, sinking their teeth into his limbs, tearing into his flesh.

"AAAGH! N-NHO...! HELP!!! HE... LP!"

His cries rang out, but no one heard. Blood filled his throat, choking off his voice, leaving only wheezing gasps and the sickening crunch of bone as the Devil Hounds feasted on him.

As his vision darkened, the agony became unbearable, until finally, everything went black.

"AAAAAH!"

Ethan jolted awake, screaming, his body drenched in cold sweat. Pain flooded his senses—his limbs felt like they were being torn apart, his flesh ablaze, and his bones creaking under pressure. After suffering for a while, the pain began to subside.

Panting, he quickly checked his limbs. They were intact. He had survived, transported once again to the same point in time, 24 hours before the Last Boss would appear.

"Ethan!" a familiar voice called, shaking him out of his stupor.

He glanced around. The other refugees were staring at him, a mix of fear and unease in their eyes. All except for Mary, who rushed toward him, her face full of concern. She grasped his face gently, forcing him to meet her gaze.

"Are you alright? You were screaming like you were being eaten alive—everyone got scared!"

"Ma...ry..." Ethan muttered, his voice trembling.

Without warning, he pulled her into a tight embrace, clinging to her as if she were his only lifeline. Mary, flustered, stood stiff for a moment before relaxing and gently patting his back.

The camp fell silent as the other refugees returned to their tasks, leaving the two of them standing alone.

Ethan's racing heart began to slow, but the guilt and fear still gnawed at him. He lifted his head and stared at Mary, her face flushed with concern.

"Mary," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Monsters will overrun this place soon. We have to run... we have to get out of here."