Moting

The classroom was already half-full when he arrived. As usual, nobody met his eyes. He slumped into his seat, pulled out his phone, and— The world froze. Literally froze. The chattering students, the falling cherry blossoms outside the window, even the dust motes in the air—all suspended in perfect stillness. "Oh, wonderful hero," a melodious voice echoed through the room. "Your world faces a terrible crisis, and you have been chosen to—" "No," he said flatly. A pause. Then a shimmer of golden light coalesced into the form of a beautiful woman in flowing robes. She blinked at him. "I… what?" "I said no. I’m not interested in whatever quest or destiny you’re selling. Pick someone else." The goddess’s perfect features creased in confusion. "But… but you’ve been chosen! The prophecy speaks of a warrior with a fierce spirit, one who—" "Lady, I don’t care about your prophecy. I’ve got enough problems here without adding some fantasy world’s issues to the mix. Now unfreeze time and leave me alone." "You don’t understand," she pressed. "Our world is being ravaged by the Demon King’s armies! Millions will die without—" "Sounds like a you problem." He turned back to his phone, though the screen remained frozen like everything else. The goddess’s confusion shifted to anger. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. "You dare dismiss a divine messenger so casually? Perhaps I should demonstrate the gravity of the situation."

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Agematsu Yuuta, un estudiante de secundaria introvertido, actualmente trabaja como novelista web de gran éxito bajo el nombre de Kamimatsu, cuya popularidad está en aumento. Un día, Yuuta piensa que su amiga de la infancia, que le envía su apoyo entusiasta todos los días, debe estar enamorada de él, por lo que le confiesa sus sentimientos. Sin embargo, su confesión es un completo fracaso. "Yo-yo soy el autor, Kamimatsu". "¿Eh? ¡No hay forma de que un otaku como tú sea igual al autor divino, Kamimatsu!" Ella era simplemente una gran admiradora del trabajo y del autor, no Yuta. Sin embargo, su amiga de la infancia más tarde se da cuenta de que la verdadera identidad de Kamimatsu es Yuta y se arrepiente, pero ya es demasiado tarde. Yuta está rodeado por un actor de doblaje ídolo, una hermosa ilustradora súper popular y una hermosa editora talentosa que es más linda y tiene mejores personalidades que su amigo de la infancia, por lo que ya no hay lugar para su amigo de la infancia. Yuta continúa viviendo una vida feliz como escritor con personas que lo aceptan.

And Simon answered their call with a single statement that nobody understood "Et super mos absit hoc hodie!" "Yah!" "WWWaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" "AAAlllllaaaaallllaaaaallllaaaa!" "EeEEellllleeeeeelllllleeeeeeuuuuuuu!" I, too, yelled a battle cry at the top of my lungs. I had no idea what Simon had just spouted but from Camilla's giggling, I could guess that Simon thought that spouting nonsense was his way of getting out of the earlier predicament. "I forbid death upon this day," Camilla said. "What?" I answered a bit at a loss. "Ancient Latin," she replied smugly, "He said 'I forbid death upon this day'." I laughed aloud "Then he is gonna be really disappointed in everyone here," Camilla did not reply and instead took a deep breath. I did the same, zoning out everything in my surroundings. The environment became a world of electrical pulses traveling across several networks. I perceived the world through my lightning and sped my heartbeat to inhuman levels. I was present now, at this moment, at this point in time. I could feel the electrifying air saturating my lungs, the electrified ground vibrating at the rhythm of the approaching enemy. Then I took a step forward, everyone followed in tandem. Camilla the first, and then the others. Then I took a second step, and this time everyone followed simultaneously. Third step… Fourth step… Fifth step… Then light jogging… Speeding up… Running … Running faster…. Then suddenly, everyone disappeared into motes of light particles that re-constructed itself hundreds of feet above the horde, dozens of miles away from our initial position. We were literally 'diving' into battle. ------------------------------------------------------------------- Despite a rough childhood in the slums, Omari had everything a guy could want - a loving girlfriend, an understanding sister, a wonderful teacher, and his dream job. Still, the scars from his childhood made Omari unable to live a dull life. He dreamed of something greater... something beyond the reaches of what humankind could achieve in the current era. Like always, Omari should have been careful what he wished for. In the year 2046, the World was thrown into chaos as the apocalypse came in the form of massive trees that shot up out of the ground one day. These trees towered over the tallest of buildings and had thicknesses that spanned kilometers at a time. They grew everywhere, in homes, businesses, and cities as they formed a complex network that overlayed the old world. The cause of the apocalypse was unknown, but Omari's workplace was believed to be the origin point of the unfortunate events. Fifteen years after the start of the Apocalypse... after all the pain and suffering... after losing everything he cared about, Omari sent his memories back in time to make sure that the future he lives in, never came to be. Will he be able to uncover the mystery of The Trees? Will he be able to protect all those he has lost? Will he succeed, or will his attempt be washed away by the currents of time? Will Omari be able to learn the truth about 'THE MYTH OF THE WORLD'S TREES'? Discord: https://discord.gg/krTzF4bXfV

G.A.T.D is a Human Alliance military that protects humanity from a strange virus called the Husk virus. The Husk Virus was released twice in this world with no clues on how it happened, but G.A.T.D stepped in and brought the world back. But the second outbreak was different the virus mutated making the Husk stronger faster and much mote, the world can only hope that G.A.T.D can gain a victory over the losing battle of this new world full of many enemies. Chance the MC struggles within this world of death fighting along side his comrades to fight all the enemies they can one day at a time. Can he keep his world safe? Can he keep his friends and family safe? Can he keep himself safe? these questions can't be answered easily.

Soleil Song- Royale lived a hellish life. He suffered at the hands of his adopted family for years until they pushed him to his death. As he lay on his deathbed, he wished for a life with his biological family and a way to live. He ended up transmigrating into the body of the lost Crown Prince Soleil Ouranios. Hearing the previous soul's last wish, he gears up for a life of intrigue and political games along with a dash of romance and happiness. Excerpts from the novel : "I wish to go back to Ilios and assume my rightful place as the Crown Prince with my dads and brothers. Make the people who separated me from my family pay." "I will fulfill your request but what will happen to you ?" modern Soleil couldn't help but ask. He did not want him to be alone. He knew how painful it was to be alone. Prince Soleil smiled fondly at him. "I will become one with you. We will be tied together forever". They couldn't help but smile at each other. They knew that as one they would be able to accomplish so much more. They began the process. The prince told them the other to collect the things they needed. They managed to set up everything around the Prince's bed and sat in front of each other. They put their foreheads together and interlocked hands. A magic circle beneath them appeared began to glow a pure gold. "God of Time and Reincarnation-Chrónos, hear our prayer. Merge us as one and give us the strength to fight for our destiny & fate. May us be blessed & free from pain and hurt. We will pray for success. So mote it be ". Prince Soleil chanted Light engulfed us. It warmed them up. A voice suddenly boomed out. " The prayer has been received. I, Chronos, hereby merge both your souls as one and pave the way to fight for your rightful place. " Soleil Song-Royale felt the original Soleil before him turn to dust and surround my hands in rings of lights before it entered his body, illuminating area briefly. x~ x~x~x~x~x~x~x x~ x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~ x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~ x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x A/N : This is my first novel in this genre. Do enjoy. Cover is from Pinterest. There is mpreg. If you don't prefer it, then this book is not for you. A/N : Hello everyone. At the moment, all my stories are undergoing a rewrite as I feel that it is not upto par....do stay tuned. Thank you for the support.

They may looked a royal princess who can't defend their self but little did those people knows that they are much mote than they looked like these five gorgeous women's will meet at one house with their own prince but those price are not standing by their side they are standing in front of them because those gorgeous ladies are a queen's without a king

The estate, surrounded by a gnarled forest that seemed to press in from all sides, exhaled an air of ancient secrets. Moss-clad stones cradled untold stories beneath the overgrowth, and the twisted branches of the trees intertwined like skeletal fingers, reaching out as if to grasp at anyone foolhardy enough to approach. As Lucas Thorne ventured past the rusted gates, a chill wind whispered through the skeletal trees, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and the faintest trace of something more sinister. Shadows, deep and unyielding, clung to the manor's exterior, as though the very darkness had taken root within its walls. The mansion's interior, once a testament to wealth and refinement, had succumbed to decay. Fading wallpaper peeled away to reveal the stained memories of forgotten revelries, and the floorboards creaked beneath Lucas's hesitant steps. Dim light filtered through tattered curtains, casting an otherworldly glow upon the dust motes that danced in the stagnant air. Hollow Manor seemed to groan with the weight of its own history, a history that Lucas was determined to unearth. Yet, as the echoes of Lucas's footsteps mingled with the ghostly whispers that permeated the halls, it became increasingly clear that the past was not a dormant relic but a malevolent force waiting to be awakened.

In the interstices of existence, where cosmic threads fray and dimensions converge, I, a weaver of improbable narratives, present to you a chronicle—a mortal flung into the Backroom, that dimly lit dimension where the remnants of shattered realities coalesce. Here, fragments of forgotten worlds gather like dust motes, and the air hums with the echoes of vanished civilizations. Level 0, they call it—an innocuous designation for a place that defies mortal comprehension. Imagine, if you will, a labyrinthine expanse of corridors, each stretching into infinity. The walls, a mélange of peeling wallpaper and faded paint, whisper secrets to those who listen. The floors—uneven, warped—yield underfoot, as if bearing the weight of countless footsteps across eons. Our mortal protagonist, nameless and bewildered, awakens here. His senses, attuned to the peculiarities of this realm, detect the faint scent of mildew and the distant drip of water. His diary, a fragile tether to sanity, lies open before him—a canvas for musings, observations, and the cryptic comments of otherworldly beings. The Backroom, you see, is no mere curiosity. It is a cosmic timepass—a diversion for entities like myself, who traverse the multiverse with idle curiosity. We fling mortals into its depths, like dice cast upon a celestial board. Some arrive willingly, seeking answers or escape; others stumble in, lost between dimensions. And so, our mortal scribe begins his entries: “I wake up in this strange place. The walls look weird, like they’re bending in impossible ways. Is this some kind of dream? I hear faint voices telling me to find a crimson door. But where is it, and what’s on the other side?” Dear reader, your role is pivotal. You, a transient consciousness, can shape his fate. Offer hints, cryptic riddles, or dire warnings—the ink of your comments seeps into his reality. Will you guide him toward salvation or plunge him deeper into the labyrinth’s heart? And thus, the tale unfolds—a dance of choices, a symphony of uncertainty. Mortal, immortal, and everything in between—we are but threads woven into existence’s grand tapestry. So, dear reader, what say you? Will you aid this lost soul or consign him to oblivion?