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Art Of Fall Of Cybertron

THE FALL LINE

Derik Halvorsen was born brilliant—and broken. Raised in silence by a violent ex-military father in rural Montana, Derik never cried, never connected, never forgot. By sixteen, he could dismantle any system, crack any server, and understand evil better than any therapist who ever tried to study him. And then one night… he made his first move. When his father dies under mysterious—but eerily clean—circumstances, the police rule it an accident. Derik disappears. No leads. No trace. Just one new ghost in the system. But Derik didn’t run. He evolved. Armed with a list of names—abusers, traffickers, corrupt prosecutors—he begins executing brutal, calculated murders that look like suicides, accidents, or divine punishment. Every kill is a message. Every detail, a signature. He doesn’t murder for revenge. He murders for balance. As federal agents begin to catch on, whispers spread in the underworld—someone is out there correcting the justice system’s mistakes. A living algorithm. A myth. A nightmare. But Derik isn’t hiding anymore. He’s building something. And the deeper he goes, the more powerful enemies take notice—some who don’t want to stop him… and others who want to use him. Because sometimes, the only thing worse than a broken system is the man who learns how to perfectly destroy it. ⸻ Themes • Morality vs justice • Systemic failure • Psychological trauma • The mind of a killer • Cold logic vs emotional chaos
Krixhna · 3.2K Views

The Steppeborn: The Art of War and the Broken Path

The Steppeborn: The Art of War and the Broken Path The steppe was never conquered. It was unmade. The Orontai rode like wind across the grasslands, their breath bound to sky and silence, not cities or thrones. But the Zhong Empire came with iron phalanxes and talismans of fire. They did not bring war. They brought extinction. Altan was born to that vanishing. A child without elemental gift. Voiceless. Spirit-null. Unwanted. Yet when the Zhong burned the clans, he did not beg. He fought. And when his mother, the last Flamecaller, stood alone on the ridge and whispered “Run,” he obeyed. Not to survive. But to remember. Hunted and broken, he fled west to the edge of the world, a place left blank on every chart, not out of myth, but because no one who entered ever returned. There, in the forbidden abyss known only in old blood and older fear, he fell into something deeper than legend. A chasm where cultivation dies and pain speaks. When he returned, the war had changed. But so had he. As phalanx legions rise and empires tighten their grip, a different kind of war begins. Formations clash in passes narrow as memory. Shields lock. Spears break. Blood spills in the thousands. There are no gods here. No destiny. Only discipline, silence, and the will to endure. And the storm no longer comes from the sky. It rises from the chasm. "This story is also being published on RoyalRoad.com under the same title and author."
REDN · 33.5K Views
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