Chapter 1: A Second Chance

Kael Draven was sixteen when the world ended. He remembered it vividly—the ash-choked sky, the guttural screams of the infected tearing through the streets, the stench of decay that clung to everything. He'd survived two years in that hellscape, a pretty face turned gaunt and scarred, relying on charm, luck, and a ruthless streak he hadn't known he possessed. He'd been handsome—very handsome—before the apocalypse chewed him up and spat him out. A rich kid with a silver spoon and a smirk that could melt hearts, he'd spent his days as a playboy, flitting between parties and girls, never imagining the world could crumble so fast.

Now, somehow, he was fourteen again.

Kael blinked, staring at the mirror in his sprawling bedroom. The mansion was quiet, the air crisp with the scent of lavender from the maid's obsessive cleaning. His reflection stared back—smooth, unblemished skin, jet-black hair falling artfully over piercing green eyes, and a jawline that could cut glass. He was beautiful again, untouched by the horrors he'd lived through. He pinched his cheek, half-expecting to wake up in some rotting hideout, a zombie's claw inches from his throat. But no—this was real. He was back, two years before the apocalypse hit.

"Two months," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. Sixty days until the first reports of "rabid flu" trickled in, until society unraveled like a cheap sweater. He'd been caught off guard the first time—spoiled, unprepared, and forced to claw his way through the chaos. Not this time.

A sharp ding echoed in his head, and Kael flinched, spinning around. The room was empty. Then, words flashed across his vision, glowing gold like a video game HUD:

[System Activated: Apocalypse Tyrant System]

[Host: Kael Draven]

[Mission: Survive and Conquer the Apocalypse]

[Rewards: Power, Resources, Dominance]

[First Task: Prepare for the End – Stockpile Supplies]

Kael's lips curled into a grin. A system? Like those novels he'd skimmed between flirting with heiresses? This was insane—and perfect. He didn't know how he'd been thrown back in time or why this "Apocalypse Tyrant System" had latched onto him, but he wasn't about to question it. He'd suffered enough in that first life—starving, running, watching people he'd partied with turn into monsters. This time, he'd be ready. This time, he'd thrive.

The Draven family fortune was obscene. Billions in tech investments, real estate, and offshore accounts meant Kael had access to more money than most countries. At fourteen, he'd already mastered the art of manipulating his doting parents and the family accountants. A few charming smiles, a sob story about "wanting to learn responsibility," and he had a black credit card with no limit burning a hole in his pocket.

He started small, testing the waters. Non-perishable food—canned goods, freeze-dried meals, protein bars—ordered in bulk under the guise of "donating to a charity drive." The warehouses he rented were discreet, tucked away in industrial districts his father wouldn't bother checking. Next came water purifiers, solar generators, and medical supplies—bandages, antibiotics, painkillers. He remembered the desperation of trading a single pill for a week's worth of food. Never again.

"Master Kael," the butler, Grayson, said one afternoon, eyeing the fleet of delivery trucks unloading crates into a newly purchased estate. "Might I ask what all this is for?"

Kael flashed his signature grin, the one that made girls blush and adults forgive anything. "Just a little project, Grayson. Building a bomb shelter. You know, for fun."

Grayson raised an eyebrow but didn't press. Kael's whims were legendary—last year, he'd bought a yacht just to impress a girl he'd dumped a week later. This was tame by comparison.

Weapons were trickier. At fourteen, he couldn't legally buy guns, but money opened doors. Private security firms, shady contacts from his playboy days—he greased palms and dropped hints about "hunting trips." By the end of week two, he had a stash of rifles, handguns, and enough ammo to start a small war. Knives, machetes, and a custom katana (because why not?) joined the arsenal. He'd learned the hard way that bullets ran out, but a good blade lasted forever.

The system chimed periodically, approving his progress:

[Task Progress: Stockpile Supplies – 35% Complete]

[Reward Unlocked: Enhanced Strength (Minor)]

Kael flexed his arm, feeling a subtle surge of power. He smirked. This was just the beginning.

By week three, his preparations were in full swing. He'd bought an abandoned bunker from a paranoid old millionaire, reinforcing it with steel plating and stocking it with everything he'd need. Solar panels, a hydroponic garden setup, even a luxury entertainment system—because if he was going to rule the apocalypse, he'd do it in style. His parents barely noticed, too busy jetting off to Monaco or Tokyo. Perfect.

Socially, he kept up appearances. At school, he was still the golden boy—flirting with cheerleaders, dazzling teachers, throwing parties that made headlines in the local gossip blogs. But his mind was elsewhere, calculating timelines, mapping safe zones, planning how to turn his wealth into power when the world fell apart.

One night, sprawled on a leather couch in his bunker, Kael stared at the system interface hovering in his vision. "Apocalypse Tyrant, huh?" he murmured. "Guess it's time to stop surviving and start ruling."

The countdown was ticking. Forty days left. He'd be ready—not just to endure, but to dominate. The handsome playboy who'd once charmed his way through life was gone. In his place stood a predator, honed by memory and armed with a system that promised supremacy.

The apocalypse wouldn't know what hit it.