When you first awaken from a nightmare, the window still shows a bright afternoon, and your phone calendar shows seven days until the apocalypse breaks out. You touch your chest; the agonizing pain of being pushed into the zombie horde still lingers—last life, the family you trusted most used you as a shield. This life, you clench your fists until your knuckles turn white. You roll out of bed, and the first thing you do is pry open the safe hiding the spatial jade pendant. You know that in seven days, this city will become a living hell, and what you must do is make them kneel before you, begging you to open the door.