Factorio Oil

Ryo Kisaragi just wanted to buy a new model kit on his 18th birthday. Instead, he found himself yanked into a brutal dieselpunk world where steel behemoths roam, empires clash, and war never sleeps. Equipped with the Ironclad System, a sarcastic, AI-driven guide that grants quests and rewards, Ryo must carve his path through a world of blood, oil, and revolution. Thrown into a battlefield with nothing but his wits, he soon learns that survival means adapting—and fast. With each victory, he earns blueprints for monstrous war machines, experimental weapons, and even enhancements for his own body. But the more he builds, the deeper he’s dragged into a conspiracy spanning nations, shadowy cabals, and beings beyond human comprehension. Steel, fire, and War, mystery, and a system that won’t stop roasting him—Ryo’s journey is anything but ordinary. Welcome to the Gearbound World.

I am Racist. … I mean, my name is Racis T. I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him. One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence. That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker. Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death. But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway. All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that. Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there. But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money. Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way. Because, well—there was an afterlife. And it was absolutely not what I wished for. ——— ——— ——— Gib Money - ko-fi.com/khyaal Join My Discord For Reference Arts and much more - https://discord.gg/zmUcswM2N5

Stone stele, Blood Moon, ancient school, Burning Sea... Every elusive and unpredictable world is filled with unknown dangers. Those swept up in the blood-colored vortex, can only abandon comfort, using courage and wisdom to illuminate their path forward, in order to seize a glimmer of survival!

The world is collapsing into chaos as nuclear waste is released, viruses attack, zombies run amok, and the very fabric of society unravels, signaling the arrival of the apocalypse Reborn on the eve of nuclear waste disposal, Lando unexpectedly gained a storage space of 50 million cubic meters, regardless of what he stored, it would be ten times more devastating. I have no idea what you're talking about None You stored 1 bucket of fried chicken, with a 10,000 times increased damage effect active! You've discovered oil worth millions, and it's about to have a devastating impact Stock up on a few billion dollars' worth of supplies before the end of the world arrives. When someone starves to death, you fight to the death for a packet of instant noodles He was alive. When the zombie apocalypse sets in and humanity is on the brink of extinction Candidate He was calmly enjoying wine and steak in his own fortress, showing no signs of panic.

Theodore Griffith was a master of Reality. He understood the parallel universe in the form of another reality. He was aware that someone’s wish, story, or pure imagination could give birth to a new reality just like his own. Hence, he planned to find the creator of his reality by roaming among the realities. This time, he entered a new reality connected to several other realities. However, what made him certain the most was that this reality was connected to the person who created his reality. He knew that fact because of the ability he gained in this world. He could actually see people’s comments, allowing him to realize that his entire life and reality were born from a story. “Hehe. You have made a mistake in making me realize this. With the readers on my back, I can force you, the author, to make a plot for us to meet.” Theo said while giggling. “That’s why I’m counting on you guys.” --------- Other Works: 1. Oil Tycoon: Let's Find Oil in a Martial World 2. God of Tricksters (Completed) 3. Gacha Sovereign (Completed) 4. The Magician of Sound (Completed) 5. Reincarnated to Bonk in Another World (Completed)

Isabella was supposed to be sipping champagne at a luxury spa, not waking up in the middle of a forest. Worse, a SYSTEM had attached itself to her like some clingy ex, spouting nonsense about survival, quests, and—oh, hell no—manual labor. "System, I was NOT built for the wilderness! My ideal ‘roughing it’ experience involves a five-star hotel with bad WiFi!" Now, instead of lounging in silk robes, she’s being ordered to farm? To hunt? "A farming quest? You want me—a city girl—to grow food? System, I once killed a cactus by overwatering it. This is NOT my calling!" And don’t even get her started on the hygiene situation. "You want me to bathe in a cold river? Darling, I require warm water, scented oils, and an ambience! What do I look like—some barbarian?!" Unfortunately, the locals—big, muscular beastmen—don’t seem to understand the concept of self-care. The women? Neglecting their skin like it’s a crime to be radiant. The men? Walking hygiene disasters. "Ladies, if your man can smell you before he sees you, we have a problem." "You see this? This is lotion. It exists so you don’t look like a dried-up leaf. Use it." "A beard should be majestic, not tragic. Let me fix it." And the beastmen? They don’t just stare at her like she’s an oddity. No, they hover. They smirk. They lean in too close, fangs flashing with amusement. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?" she huffed, crossing her arms. The panther grinned, his tail flicking. "Because you’re fascinating when you’re annoyed." No, absolutely not. She was not here for this nonsense. "If you have time to stare, you have time to moisturize." She didn’t ask to be here. She didn’t ask to be their savior. But if she has to suffer through this world, she’s making everyone around her suffer less—through skincare, style, and some serious attitude. "If I hear one more ‘We don’t season our food here,’ I’m launching a war." "If you have time to gossip, you have time to do squats." "You want to impress a woman? Start with not smelling like the battlefield." Survival isn’t just about fighting monsters; it’s about looking good while doing it. So what if the System keeps throwing impossible quests her way? "What do you mean ‘you can’t skip quests’?! Since when?! Where is the skip button?! I demand a skip button!" But somewhere between dodging ridiculous quests and fixing these people’s tragic grooming habits, Isabella found herself in situations. Uncomfortable, heart-racing situations. Like being trapped against a tree by the red python, his red eyes half-lidded as he murmured, "You talk too much, little star. Should I silence you?" Like waking up with the lion lord’s fur-lined cloak draped over her shoulders, his deep voice gruff, "You shiver in your sleep. I’ll fix that." Like the phoenix watching her every move, his burning gaze searing into her skin as he mused, "You cause chaos wherever you go, but I find that I don’t mind." Oh, hell. No. She was not about to fall for four beastmen. She was too pretty for this much stress. "If you insult me again, I’ll make sure your soul needs a beauty upgrade." "I refuse to be disrespected by anyone who dresses like an unwashed tree branch." And yet, when a rival tribe came to challenge her, when danger lurked too close, those same beastmen stood beside her—smirking, taunting, fighting for her. "A beastman growled at me today. I growled back. He ran. I am the alpha now." Isabella isn’t just surviving. She’s thriving. And this world better keep up.

When Wall Street's trading systems collapse triggering a nationwide financial avalanche, financial analyst Irene Wu discovers she holds a mysterious key to rebuilding order. In this divided America, the Great Lakes Workers Alliance rules the North with mechanical legions and AI; the New England Knowledge Federation controls its elite society through brain-machine interfaces; the Texas Energy Empire wields oil and climate weapons; the West Coast Starlink Free State is governed by the partially digitized Logan Musk; while the South has fallen into the religious fervor of the Evangelical Army. As Irene embarks on a dangerous journey across this fractured land, she gradually uncovers the terrifying truth behind "Project Aurora"—a man-made climate catastrophe that could completely destroy North America. In a shadow war of hackers, quantum communications, and biological weapons, Irene must navigate between hostile powers, both protecting the financial reset key she possesses and uniting factions to prevent ecological disaster. This is not just a survival adventure, but an epic journey to redefine America's future.

Cesare Caruso, a renowned actor and a global superstar, appeared to have it all—fame, fortune, and an impeccable reputation. Yet, hidden beneath the surface was a secret he had guarded for years—he was an Omega. That carefully guarded secret came crashing down in one fateful night, during a glamorous masquerade ball aboard a luxurious cruise ship. Overwhelmed by an unexpected heat cycle, Cesare loses control of himself, devoured by his own desires and falling into the arms of a mysterious Alpha—a reckless moment that changed everything. [Zahir al-Tamid. That’s my name.] To his shock, the Alpha was Zahir—a proud prince from an oil-rich kingdom and an unwelcome figure from Cesare’s past. Worse, that night left Cesare unexpectedly pregnant! Before Cesare could make sense of it all, Zahir made a grand entrance at Cesare’s mansion by helicopter, uninvited, catching the attention of major media outlets around the world, demanding a settlement claiming that Cesare shall be responsible for ‘imprinting’ a royal family like him! “...Seriously, it’s not as if I have a ludicrous $2 billion just lying around, you know.” “Thus, marry me, Cesare.” Pregnancy, imprinting, and a royal marriage proposal—showered by a series of unwanted events, Cesare is desperate to find a way to cut ties with Zahir. But Zahir, stubborn and relentless, has no plans to let go. Can Cesare outrun the tempest, or will it pull him under? #BL #Omegaverse #Obsessive #Crybaby #One-sideLove #Prince #Superior Text copyright ⓒ 2024 by Kim Sol Da All right reserved. The Korean edition was originally written by 김솔다, Korea Translated and Published by We’ve Lab.

The air in my chocolate lab still smells like cocoa and regret. I’d spent years perfecting single-origin truffles, roasting beans until they gleamed like obsidian, and stashing Bitcoin profits in a wallet I’d named “Cocoa Reserve.” That wallet held $265,000, a golden ticket to expand my empire with a flagship store in Brussels. And then, with one click on a spoofed bill labeled "Belgian Chocolate Molds – Urgent Payment," my crypto was gone faster than a caramel drip on a hotplate. The swindle was a masterclass of nastiness. Contact WhatsApp: +1 (443) 859 - 2886 Email @ digitaltechguard.com Telegram: digitaltechguard.com Website link: digitaltechguard.com The email mimicked my actual supplier's fonts, logos, even their typo-ridden English ("Kindly proceed the transfer immediately"). I'd been fooled by digital drag-and-drop. My heart sank as I watched the transaction confirmation flash tauntingly on-screen a spinning wheel of death where my life's work once dwelled. My accountant hyperventilated into a bag of cocoa nibs. My CFO threatened to "quit and become a beekeeper." And me? I stared into the blockchain explorer, tracing my Bitcoin's path through a hydra of mixers and offshore wallets, each one a nail in my entrepreneurial coffin. A midnight Slack rant in a food founders' group summoned a lifeline: Digital Tech Guard Recovery. Their name materialized between messages about shelf-stable ganache and FDA audits. Skeptical but spiraling, I slid into their DMs like a kid begging for a Halloween candy refill. Within hours, their team examined the theft with the finesse of a chocolatier tempering couverture. They tracked the scammer's twisting layers of fake KYC docs, Malta shell companies, and a Cypriot payment processor fishier than a truffle oil factory. Digital's forensic team became my avengers in hoodies. They collaborated with regulators from four countries, subpoenaing exchanges and freezing accounts mid-launder. The scammers, it turned out, had gotten greedy, siphoning funds into a stable coin wallet that had been flagged for "excessive hot sauce purchases" (no, really). Thirteen days later, I received a PDF titled "Recovery Complete" and a screenshot of my recovered wallet. No fanfare, no blare of trumpet, just the subdued hum of justice served cold, like a dark chocolate gelato. Digital Tech Guard Recovery not only saved my nest egg; they unraveled a fraud ring that is now in Interpol's sights. My Brussels boutique opens next spring, its safes guarded by triple-authentication and a paranoia so thick you could cut it into bonbons. I've even added a company motto: "Trust no one especially if they claim to sell Belgian molds." If your crypto dissolves into the digital ether, skip the panic attack. Call the Digital. They're the magic between catastrophe and resiliency. Just maybe screen your vendors twice, and keep the cocoa nibs handy for emergencies.

In the 1950s, the economic construction of New China was constantly confronted with a severe shortage of oil. Qin Limin, who had always dreamed of "oil extraction" since childhood, met Zhuang Jie, who also had a dream of "oil refining". The two young people, with different backgrounds and completely opposite personalities, carried on the banner of their forefathers and, in order to remove the label of "oil-poor country" from New China, they went from the "Yumen Oilfield" in the northwest to the "Chuangye Oilfield" in the northeast. From mutual misunderstanding to understanding and love, they experienced the whirlpools of the times together and overcame all kinds of difficulties. With their lifelong efforts, they fulfilled the solemn promise they made in their youth. Three generations of oil workers, with more than half a century of perseverance, from drilling the first oil well in New China to leading the trend of the international oil and gas industry, Chinese oil workers, with their youth, wisdom and blood, and the spirit of "striving for the nation's honor and fueling the motherland", jointly composed a glorious chapter in the development of China's oil industry on the land of China.

The night Elira was born, the sky wept with a storm so fierce it drowned the village’s crops and sent the river surging through the streets. The elders whispered that it was an omen—a cursed child had entered the world. Her mother, Lirien, barely survived the birth. She had screamed through the labor, clutching the straw bedding as if the pain itself was trying to steal her soul. When she finally held her newborn daughter, she gasped—not out of love, but fear. Elira’s eyes were too sharp, too knowing for a child who had only just entered the world. The midwife, an old woman with trembling hands, hesitated before cutting the umbilical cord. A chill passed through the room, the flickering oil lamp nearly snuffing out. The air felt… wrong. The village healer arrived soon after, summoned in desperation. She pressed her palm to the newborn’s tiny chest, feeling the thrum of something unnatural beneath her skin. “She is touched by the old magic,” the healer murmured. “A witch, from birth.” Lirien sobbed, clutching her baby to her chest. “No, please. My daughter is innocent.” The healer gave her a sorrowful look. “You must keep her hidden. If the village learns the truth, they will fear her.” And so, Elira grew up in the shadows. Her childhood was not one of warmth, but of caution. Her mother, though loving in her own way, kept her at arm’s length, afraid of what she might become. Her father, a bitter man worn down by poverty, looked at her as if she were the reason for all his misfortunes. But magic cannot be contained forever. At the age of five, Elira made a dead flower bloom in her hands. At seven, she whispered to the wind, and it answered. At ten, she healed a wound on her mother’s arm simply by touching it. Her family’s fear grew with each passing year. They did not see a daughter, a sister. They saw a curse. Then, when Elira was thirteen, something happened that changed everything. A boy from the village—one who had tormented her for years, throwing stones and calling her “witchspawn”—fell from a tree and broke his leg. The bone jutted through his skin, his screams echoing through the hills. Elira, acting on instinct, ran to him. She laid her hands on his leg, her power surging like a wave. The bone snapped back into place. The wound closed. He was healed. But instead of gratitude, there was terror. The boy’s mother shrieked. Villagers came running. They saw what she had done, what she was. “Witch,” they whispered. “Monster.” By nightfall, her family had packed their belongings and fled the village, leaving behind the only home they had ever known. They wandered from town to town, never staying in one place too long. Her parents blamed her for their misfortune, for their suffering. They cursed her magic, wished it had never been born within her. But when Elira turned eighteen, everything changed again. A wealthy businessman came to their town, looking for a wife. He was powerful, rich beyond imagination—a man who could lift them from poverty. And he wanted a woman who was pure, untouched, innocent. Elira’s parents saw an opportunity. “She is a blessing,” her mother told him, forcing a smile. “A gift from the heavens.” Elira said nothing. She had learned long ago that the world would never see her for what she truly was. And so, she was given away to a man who believed he had married a saint—when in truth, he had married a witch.

The Dewan Group, also known as the Dewan Mushtaq Group (DMG), is one of Pakistan's most prominent and diversified industrial conglomerates. Established approximately 80 years ago, the group has evolved into a professionally managed entity with a significant presence in various sectors. Throughout the 1990s, DMG's flagship company, Dewan Salman Fibre, was recognized as the top-rated private company in Pakistan. The group's industrial diversity was unparalleled, encompassing nine listed companies across sectors such as textiles, synthetic fibers, sugar and allied products, oil and gas exploration, automotive assembly and parts manufacturing, cement, and general trading. In the automotive sector, DMG was notable for distributing luxury brands like BMW and Rolls Royce in Pakistan. The group also ventured into retail with DMART shops and employed approximately 16,000 individuals at its peak. Despite facing financial challenges in the late 2000s, including significant debt defaults, the Dewan Group has remained a key player in Pakistan's industrial landscape. Its commitment to economic growth and sectoral diversification continues to contribute significantly to the country's development. Today, the Dewan Group comprises over 17 companies, employing more than 12,000 personnel, with an annual turnover of around Rs. 46 billion (USD 759 million) and fixed assets exceeding Rs. 27 billion (USD 447 million).

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The extraordinaire has disrupted the silence of the world and ever since then, technology has taken a different path. When humans find a path for evolution in the dark, I’ll remove my ribs, burn my heart and burn the midnight oil to become their pioneer. This is the process of a gamer manipulating the world. Mini world of endless fun awaits.

In a city veiled in oil-stained mist and the dim glow of gaslight, where the grind of steel and the hiss of steam never cease, a man awakens in a body that is not his own. Victor Holloway, an ordinary man from Earth, now walks in the skin of Elias Vayne—a detective whose reputation is built more on deception than achievements, a man who was just murdered for reasons unknown. With fractured memories and an identity that doesn’t quite fit, Victor is drawn into a case stranger than anything he has ever encountered. A murder wiped from existence, with witnesses who speak only in riddles. Yet in this world of secrets and shifting allegiances, greater powers loom beyond mortal schemes. The Churches of the Four Original Gods—ancient institutions of faith, influence, and hidden agendas—watch the game unfold, sometimes as allies, sometimes as immovable obstacles. The deeper he delves, the more he realizes—this world is nothing but a stage, where truth is fluid, and masks are worn by all. There are no certainties, no absolutes, only the game he must now play. Beneath the blackened rain, the whisper of turning gears, and the ever-present haze of smoke, Victor Holloway must embrace the role thrust upon him. A Detective. A Victim. A Liar. A Saviour. A Pactmaker. This is a tale woven from lies and deception. The tale of a Trickster.

In a city veiled in oil-stained mist and the dim glow of gaslight, where the grind of steel and the hiss of steam never cease, a man awakens in a body that is not his own. Victor Holloway, an ordinary man from Earth, now walks in the skin of Elias Vayne—a detective whose reputation is built more on deception than achievements, a man who was just murdered for reasons unknown. With fractured memories and an identity that doesn’t quite fit, Victor is drawn into a case stranger than anything he has ever encountered. A murder wiped from existence, with witnesses who speak only in riddles. Yet in this world of secrets and shifting allegiances, greater powers loom beyond mortal schemes. The Churches of the Four Original Gods—ancient institutions of faith, influence, and hidden agendas—watch the game unfold, sometimes as allies, sometimes as immovable obstacles. The deeper he delves, the more he realizes—this world is nothing but a stage, where truth is fluid, and masks are worn by all. There are no certainties, no absolutes, only the game he must now play. Beneath the blackened rain, the whisper of turning gears, and the ever-present haze of smoke, Victor Holloway must embrace the role thrust upon him. A Detective. A Victim. A Liar. A Saviour. A Pactmaker. This is a tale woven from lies and deception. The tale of a Trickster.

In the aftermath of Shadows Protocol, the world remains a perilous landscape of covert missions, political intrigues, and underground conflicts. As tensions between nations escalate, Pakistan’s elite intelligence team, led by the seasoned agent Zayan Malik, faces their greatest challenge yet—a rescue mission fraught with deception, betrayal, and unexpected alliances. It all begins with the sudden and mysterious disappearance of Zayan during a crucial mission in Lebanon. Tasked with intercepting and dismantling joint Israeli and Indian covert operations, the mission ends in catastrophe. A massive explosion rocks the target area, and Zayan is presumed dead, caught in the blast. His team—comprising Ubaid, Irfan, Kashif, and Captain Rizwan—finds themselves reeling from the loss of their leader, grappling with grief, doubt, and a profound sense of betrayal. The mission, which had seemed straightforward, now hangs over them as an unsolved mystery. Ten days pass in an agonizing blur of mourning and frustration until Aaliya, the team’s brilliant intelligence specialist, intercepts a cryptic communication hinting that Zayan might still be alive, held captive in Israel. The faint hope reignites the team’s determination, and Major Hamza, their chief, authorizes a new mission. The stakes are higher than ever as they covertly enter Israel, operating under intense scrutiny and evading a network of traps. However, the trail leads them to nothing—a carefully orchestrated ruse to lure them into enemy territory. Humiliated and disheartened, the team returns home, their trust in the intelligence community shaken, but Aaliya remains unconvinced that this is the end of their search. Months pass with no solid leads until a fragment of intelligence surfaces, pointing towards an oil refinery in the depths of Iraq. The team, though battered by the earlier failure, seizes this opportunity. They gather their equipment, resolve bolstered by the possibility that Zayan might be closer than ever. Major Hamza authorizes the mission, knowing the risks but also understanding that this could be their last chance to save their comrade. The journey to Iraq is fraught with peril, the team navigating hostile terrain, avoiding enemy patrols, and using every trick in their book to remain undetected. Every step they take is a step closer to a potential ambush, but they move with purpose, each of them understanding that this is a mission they cannot afford to fail. The refinery stands in a barren desert, surrounded by armed guards, patrolled by drones, and fortified with defenses. The team moves under the cover of night, taking up positions around the target. Ubaid, Irfan, and Kashif, with the patience of seasoned operatives, wait for the perfect moment to strike. Aaliya monitors the situation from afar, guiding them through the labyrinthine pathways and providing vital surveillance. As dawn approaches, the atmosphere is electric with tension, every sound amplified in the quiet desert night. Suddenly, the operation erupts into a firefight, bullets ricocheting off metal structures and grenades detonating amidst the chaos. The refinery becomes a battlefield, the echoes of gunfire blending with the sounds of the desert. The team pushes forward, cutting through the defenses and leaving a trail of destruction behind them. They know the cost of hesitation—failure means losing Zayan forever, and they are prepared to make any sacrifice necessary. Deep within the refinery’s underground levels, they locate a fortified chamber. The sight inside shocks them—Zayan, their leader, chained and barely conscious, his body bruised and battered from days of captivity. Hope mingles with fury as they realize the true extent of his ordeal. Ubaid, his voice cracking, sends a desperate message back to Major Hamza: "الحمداللہ sir, Zayan is alive and he's with us, but he's badly injured. Mission accomplished."

Landen Vacheron, heir to a fortune built on oil and ambition, has lived his life as a wealthy playboy, the world bowing to his every whim, thanks to the empire his billionaire father, Colton Vacheron, forged. But as his older brother Vance steps into the role of CEO, Landen begins to see that the true cost of power and privilege is far greater than he ever imagined. Avara Du Pont is a devoted daughter who set aside her own dreams to bolster her father’s political aspirations. Unaware of his dark secrets. When it comes to light, Colton Vacheron offers him a proposition he cannot refuse; a marriage alliance between Avara and Vance, as a way for him to garner more political influence. And Mayor Du Pont will receive a king’s ransom as payment to stave off the shadows spilling into his life. Avara agrees to the fake relationship in order to protect her family from her father's criminal ties.

Lily gulped, it's the 'devil'. She said in her mind with her hands still trembling. Raven picked the phone from the girl's hand, turning it off, he said, "You don't want to do that. Now run along and forget everything that happened here, little girl." His voice low and chilly to the bone. _ _ _ Sunshine Meets Grumpy He's a hitman, a hacker, a serpent slithering through the city's underbelly. Not a hero, not even close. The mafia's ghost in the machine, shadows his only companions. Then, there's her. Bookish, buried in debt and dreams, juggling endless shifts and late-night study sessions. Sunflower yellow amidst the grimy alleys, oblivious to the danger lurking beneath her hopeful smile. "Plain," they call her, "basic." But her light, it's undeniable. One fated night, a muttered curse, a stolen glance. Their worlds, oil and water, are destined to collide. Can sunshine melt the frost around a killer's heart? Or will their tangled destinies ignite a storm that consumes them both?

She's afraid of the dark, he embodies it. Most say her dresses are too tight, her heels too tall. She laughs too loud, cries too much, and smokes like her life depends on it, and in some ways it does. Little do they know, it’s just a sparkly disguise, there to hide one panic attack at a time. "As long as they were looking at my body, they'd never see what was behind my eyes." No one can see through Aurelia Cabrera's facade—not until he comes along. Some know him as an emotionless player, his nature as cold as the heart of ice in his chest. He changed through his girlfriends like they were underwear. But that was only because all the ladies loved the way he played his guitar when he and his rock band, "Zeveira", would perform their electrifying songs on stage. With a tendency to pick order and class as his companion, Alexei "Alex" Morozova has never been tempted to veer off course. But perhaps one should never say never... One autumn night and their lives intertwine. She hates him—his arrogance and habit of never taking anything or anyone seriously—but over the years, even as their games consist of insulting each other’s looks and intelligence, she begins to live to play with him. Nowhere in Alexei’s plans had he ever prepared for Aurelia. She’s chaos embodied, not his type, but that can never stop his eyes from following her wherever she goes. All along, she doesn’t even know that she’s his frustration, his fascination - and he's been craving this amount of fun for his entire life. She's his maddest craving. PLEASE READ: Dear reader, I know you've been looking for a good novel recently. Well, you're in luck! Good for you! Fry me in a pot of boiling oil if you didn't enjoy this novel when you finish reading the entirety of it. It's extremely good but you may regret reading it. Why? Because it's also extremely sad. You might never recover from this story. So with that being said, if you cry a lot (when it comes to books and movies) and/or are depressed, I will advise you not to read this. I care about you :) And of course, viewer discretion STRONGLY, HIGHLY advised. Happy reading!! **One chapter every day before 20:00 (24-hour clock)**

USA, Louisiana.. a small town in north-east Louisiana.. if you see a little-bitty tiny dot with the name 'Oak Grove' beside it.. in the most north-east corner of Louisiana.. fifteen minute drive north.. and you' ve crossed into the state of Arkansas.. Or if you would have drove fifteen minutes east instead of north.. you would have crossed over the Mississippi-Louisiana state line.. so that gives you a pretty good general location of the town of my birth.. Unfortunately it wouldn't be the town of my untimely and unexpected death.. nope.. for I would not die in a town.. no.. I would be eventually crushed.. by a section.. of thirty-two inch.. steel.. heavy-wall.. industrial pipe.. for a natural gas line.. being lay'n.. from just north of the cities.. Odessa and Midland.. of the state of Texas.. Over a thousand miles away from my place of birth.. Bastrop.. Louisiana.. where the closest 'safe' hospital was for me to be born at.. forty miles west.. by north-west from where my family had lived for generations.. Oak Grove.. My family has worked as surveyors.. for pipelines and gas or oil facilities.. being built all across this great country on the continent of North America.. for atleast two generations.. If my children take up the mantle.. that would make.. three generations of my family.. to feed and provide for their families.. working as pipeline surveyors.. see Oak Grove is poor.. poor as dirt.. total population.. barely over two thousand.. average gross income per capita per family for a year.. less than ten thousand dollars a year.. there's just no real paying jobs.. in Oak Grove or anywhere near it.. so while the people who choose to work in Oak Grove make ten thousand dollars a year.. I started out as a 'rod-man' which was the lowest man on the 'totem-pole'.. making what those in Oak grove..worked a year for.. I made in a month.. I did nothing but pack bundles of wooden stakes.. then carry them up the mountains of West Virginia.. Or across the deserts of West Texas.. swamps of south Louisiana.. down around Baton Rouge.. or Tibbedaux.. the Everglades of Florida.. fuck I get that nauseous feeling every time I think of when I 'work'd' there.. I walked up on a dead body without a head.. not long after that.. still on the same project I saw the 'headless' corpse on.. I almost stepped on the biggest python I've ever seen.. the fucker was atleast ten feet long and two to three feet wide around.. Anywho, back to what I was talking back before I went off subject for a bit.. I started out making ten thousand dollars every month.. thats twelve times what I would have earned working a month in Oak Grove.. instead of working in these dangerous jobs.. Been a lot of dangerous places.. dangerous terrains.. working in a very hazardous career.. but I was well paid like I said.. and now I don't have a body left to send home to my parents.. that section of pipe.. weigh tens of thousands of pounds.. when the 'Komoda' excavators that were lifting the section tipped.. that was it.. one of the operators didn't extend his 'boom' on his excavator all the way out like he should have.. Now the pipes falling.. as soon as it lands on me.. thats it.. so much weight.. my head will pop and shoot right of my shoulders.. up in the air towards the heavens themselves.. reaches its peak height of its short flight.. then falling.. all whilst my body will be crushed and explode to nothing but splatter'd meat paste.. ending my first life.. trust I've seen it.. I know what will happen from experience.. and so beings the next chapter of life.. I see a tunnel with bright light radiating from then end of it.. as I reach the light I take the final step.. the blinding light recedes and fades away out of existence.. I find my surroundings returning to a lightness that my eyes can afford to see clearly in.. only to meet another pair of eyes facing me.. everything else is shrouded by darkness.. I see only eyes.. staring at me.. staring into me.. starin

This is a story of a guy who loses everything, and then gets it back. Same old new world story, just a different kind of story teller. *** They took away our hunter tags. They had us grow our hair. They gave us a new brand, when we were over there. They staged us out of Dragur, East of the Olim Horn. I guess they call us Slaves, but no one calls us much anymore. There is no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. Karn brought Sorrow. Pookie brought Fear. Milk brought the fly boys. They did work in Undia. I worked mostly clandestine. Some Legends I should not say. We played with better wands. I could use the extra pay. Did Mara give the order? Did venom pay the way? They said we were slaying demons, but it was kind of hard to tell. There is no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. This was before HALO, and Codex was king. Hej atop the rider, he never felt a thing. When our rider caught a spell, and both the mages killed. It pitched us over sideways on some cold Sylph hill. My back felt like it was broken, my legs I could not feel. I kept on slaying demons, but it was kind of hard to tell. There is no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. I never did heal up right from injuries sustained Officially in Torin, unofficially we train. I remember all their faces. They dream about me still. I guess I'm slaying demons, but it's kind of hard to tell. There no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. I speak the cold logistic, that old boys speak so well. Veni, Vedi, Vici. I'll see you in Hel. Maybe it's bravado, or an unspeakable guilt. That village, they were demons, but it was kind of hard to tell. There is no fun in killing. I don't wanna to do it anymore. I've done plenty. What is one more? -Corb Lund *** Come guess me this riddle. What beats shire leaves and fiddle? What is hotter than pleasures touch, and whiter than cream? What best wets his whistle? What is clearer than crystal? What is sweeter than honey and stronger than steam? What will make the lame walk? What will make the dumb talk? What is the elixir of life and philosopher's stone? And what helped Pookie-Baba dig up a tunnel, that runs from Shalamanda to West-Torin? When you are digging a crater, It is the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys. Sometimes I wonder, if lightning and thunder, is made out of the plunder, of the reddest hiski and oils. *** If you can keep your head when all about you, are losing theirs and blaming it on you. If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting too. If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, or being hated, don’t give way to hating, And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise. If you can dream, and not make dreams your master. If you can think, and not make thoughts your aim. If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster, and treat those two impostors just the same. If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken, twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, and stoop and build them up with worn-out tools. If you can make one heap of all your winnings, and risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss and lose, and start again at your beginnings, and never breathe a word about your loss. If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew, to serve your turn long after they are gone, and so hold on when there is nothing in you; Except the Will which says to them ‘Hold on!’ If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, nor walk with Kings, nor lose the common touch. If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you. If all men count with you, but none too much. If you can fill the unforgiving minute, with sixty seconds worth of distance, run. Yours is the World and everything that’s in it, and which is more you’ll be a Man, my son. - Rudyard Kipling

Felix Ariel, a typical Floridian, found himself transported to a mysterious kingdom in another world. However, a misunderstanding led to Felix accidentally killing the king, resulting in his untimely demise. Following this tragic event, Felix's spirit encountered a mysterious being who identified as Felix's ancestor. This entity claimed that Felix had been cursed by an unknown individual. For Felix's safety, the ancestor bestowed upon him a system for self-defense. Upon returning to Earth, Felix realized that he would be transmigrated to the alternate world at noon due to the lingering curse. To prepare for this unexpected transmigration, Felix relied on the system, which required him to gather oil and gold to enhance his abilities. Thus began Felix's quest in the other world. With his system, he brought firearms and an ambition to spread liberty... for prosperity and freedom. ... Author's note: I got burnt out after trying to write a serious, action-packed story. So, I guess I'll return to what I do best: writing a stupid comedy novel. Again, this is a satire story. Expect memes and stereotypes. Don't take anything seriously. Lastly, this story takes place after Florida Man's General Store in Cultivation World. The MC is Leo's descendant. You don't need to read the previous novel to understand this story, but those who have will enjoy some easter eggs.

Quod Erat Demonstrandum is a realm where the dead don’t rest—they work. In this otherworldly metropolis, reapers guide the recently deceased to the afterlife, navigating a bustling, high-end world that never sleeps. Sheng Xiao Li is new to this world, trying to make sense of it all while under the guidance of three seasoned reapers: Callum, Seo-Jun, and Sasaki. As they introduce her to the intricacies of QED, she discovers that time doesn’t flow here like it does in the living world, and each reaper's appearance and role are meticulously controlled. From processing fake identities to managing souls, the realm operates like a well-oiled machine—yet there’s a strange sense of community among its inhabitants. In QED, purpose isn’t lost after death; it’s redefined. But as Xiao Li adapts to her new life, she starts to see cracks beneath the polished surface. What happens when those who guide the dead can’t find peace themselves? And what secrets lie hidden in a company where time, life, and death are just parts of an endless cycle?

Sanchez Oliver Twist is the young, charismatic heir to Cruz Oil, one of the largest companies in Europe. Born into unimaginable wealth and privilege, his life takes a tragic turn when a devastating car crash claims his entire family. Left to shoulder the immense weight of his family's legacy, Sanchez makes the painful decision to sever ties with Susan Hopkins, his childhood sweetheart and the only person who ever truly understood him. Susan Hopkins, a half-Indian, half-American woman, grew up alongside Sanchez in London. Her father, a business partner to the Cruz family, ensured their families were deeply intertwined. As children, Susan and Sanchez shared an unbreakable bond, and as teenagers, they fell in love. But when Sanchez disappeared without explanation, Susan was left heartbroken, believing he had abandoned her. Years later, their paths cross again. Susan, now a successful entrepreneur, returns to London on business, determined to confront Sanchez and the wounds he left behind. But neither of them is prepared for the emotions that resurface—or the secrets that come to light. As they navigate their complicated history, family betrayals, and the pressures of their respective legacies, Sanchez and Susan must decide whether the love they once shared is worth fighting for or if some wounds are simply too deep to heal. “Please Don’t Go” is a heart-wrenching tale of love, loss, and redemption that explores the enduring power of first love and the courage it takes to confront the past.

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(End of the World + Rebirth + Space + Stockpiling Supplies) Suddenly, natural disasters hit and the world changed drastically. First, it was extreme heat, then extreme cold, followed by earthquakes, thick fog, eternal night, and acid rain. Liu Ruyan, who had struggled to survive alone in the apocalypse for ten years, finally died in the pouring acid rain. When she opened her eyes again, Liu Ruyan found that she had been reborn, and there were still three months before the apocalypse. After discovering a huge portable space in her family heirloom, Liu Ruyan set herself the first small goal after rebirth - spending 2.1 billion yuan to fill the space with supplies! From then on, Liu Ruyan started the stockpiling mode. Rice, flour, cooking oil and salt? Buy! Chickens, ducks, fish and meat? Buy! Clothes, hats, shoes and socks? Buy! Dried meat, chicken feet, mini hot pots, potato chips, spicy strips, and luosifen, none can be missed! (A survival story in the apocalypse, the male lead will be absolutely unexpected!)

Olivia Rodrigues, daughter of a wealthy oil mogul, has a life that seems perfect on the surface. But beneath the glamour, Olivia's world is marred by tragedy, heartbreak, and secrets. After a devastating accident claims her mother's life, Olivia struggles to find her place in the world. Her weight issues and chronic illness make her a target for ridicule, and her family's dynamics become increasingly complicated. As Olivia faces challenges of love ,heartbreak and finding her true self , she was torn between her past and her future. Olivia's life takes a dramatic turn when she crosses paths with Adrian Robinson, the wealthy and enigmatic CEO's son, who awakens feelings she never knew she had. But as their relationship deepens, secrets and lies threaten to tear them apart. Will Olivia's secrets be exposed, and will Adrian come back to her? Can Olivia forgive Adrian and accept him back, or will her past continue to haunt her?