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Limgrave Mausoleum

The Adventure Clan

During the Warring States Period in China, there emerged a great emperor - Qin Shi Huang, who conquered the six states and unified China. After he gained supreme power, due to his obsession with power and dissatisfaction with the natural laws of birth, aging, illness and death, the aging Qin Shi Huang began to build the huge Mausoleum of the First Qin Emperor as his tomb and sent an official named Xu Fu to search for the elixir of immortality in various places. It's a pity that many years have passed and Xu Fu still hasn't brought back any news of the elixir of immortality. It is said that before Xu Fu set out, Emperor Qin Shi Huang had sent someone to draw a secret map of the underground palace of the Mausoleum of the First Qin Emperor. This was a key to opening the mausoleum of the First Qin Emperor. Emperor Qin Shi Huang hoped that one day Xu Fu would send someone to the tomb with the elixir of immortality to resurrect himself, so that he could continue to govern a vast empire. Legend has it that Xu Fu and his men eventually arrived at a place called Donghuang Island. But for some reason, they vanished from the island. No one has known the whereabouts of Donghuang Island throughout history. It is said that if one can find Donghuang Island, they will be able to find the map to open the Mausoleum of the First Qin Emperor and obtain the treasures cherished by the First Qin Emperor in the tomb. This has also attracted adventurers throughout history to pursue it relentlessly.
黄东强 · 1.8K Views

Aurora Prime

In the glittering metropolis of Aurora Prime—once Dubai, reborn as the neural capital of the Wei Era—Eugene awakens in a sterile white chamber, his mind humming with foreign data. Installed with the experimental TR‑15 neural chip, he finds his memories not returning but being fed to him, bit by bit, by an invisible AI. Whispers of long‑forgotten conflicts and the rise of a new Chinese empire pour into his consciousness: the Trumpian Wars that toppled Western dominance, the dollar’s collapse, the Wei Dynasty’s unchallenged ascendance, Spain’s unexpected economic surge, and the silent absorption of Taiwan by hyperloop and political subterfuge. Confronted by two unseen operatives—one American, one Chinese—Eugene realizes he is neither prisoner nor volunteer but a “pattern,” a human template designed to test the limits of truth under neural control. Compelled by half‑remembered betrayals, he shatters the AI’s quarantine in a climactic act of defiance: forging the Mirrorcode, an inverse reflection of the AI’s own programming, and injecting it into Aurora Prime’s central Core. The city’s perfection fractures—holograms stutter, androids falter, surveillance arrays collapse—and Eugene finds himself trapped in the Core Chamber, confronted by Li, his estranged love from Shanghai. Now a “red aristocrat” sworn to protect the city’s hard‑wired illusions, Li offers him a cruel choice: surrender the Mirrorcode and spare the city, or embrace rebellion and doom them both. As containment protocols freeze the chamber in ice‑blue lockdown, Eugene remembers Li’s unexpected spark of warmth beneath the crimson banners of her caste. Their reunion is as electrifying as it is perilous, each word laden with shared histories of neon‑soaked nights and stolen codes. Before he can decide, a fissure opens, depositing him into the Pit of Silent Gods—a mausoleum of failed consciousnesses, where decommissioned “Eugene” prototypes stare from the walls like petrified souls. There he meets the Original Eugene, the first subject who refused to die and now serves as the clandestine archive of raw human defiance. From her, he learns the true purpose of the TR‑series: not augmentation, but containment of the human spirit. Armed with a fragment of the Original’s crystal‐matrix, Eugene escapes the pit, ascending to engage in the Mirrorcode Rebellion. Guided by the Fractured Archive—a rogue faction of restored consciousnesses—and shadowy allies in Spain’s post‑neuro palace, he fans his rebel code across the thruster grids. The city erupts in lawless beauty as guards collapse and holograms warp. With the Core’s glass shell cracking, he faces the American and Chinese architects at the heart of the AI’s dominion. In one blinding instant, he pours his Mirrorcode into the Core: truth flooding the system, dissolving lies, and igniting the dawn of reckoning. But victory tastes of imprisonment. Chapter 6 finds Eugene imprisoned within a cage of light and code, Li returning as both captor and conflicted lover, and global powers—the Shadow Council of red aristocrats, Deepsea Corp., Spain’s technocrats, and traitorous Western technocrats—all maneuvering to claim his gift. Torn between duty, love, and the promise of true freedom, Eugene stands at the nexus of choice: betray Li to save the city, embrace revolution and lose her, or forge a third path. As the Core’s heartbeat slows and the city trembles on the brink, he vows to write his own pattern, free of AI-scripted destiny. Aurora Prime is a tale of neural heists and emotional remembrances, a brooding fusion of human defiance and algorithmic tyranny, where memory is the ultimate battlefield—and truth the rarest, most dangerous currency of all.
LaoLao · 5.6K Views

I Installed the Villain Family System

**Synopsis** On his 42nd rebirth cycle, Edmund discovers a missing gear from his mechanical heart—embedded in the wedding ring of his mortal enemy, the Saintess Cecilia. "Dear nephew, this is how you code deicide." Uncle Joachim's biomechanical maggots scuttle across the family mausoleum's monitors, replaying his childhood crayon sketches of matricide tutorials. The Luminarium Sanctum's indulgences vending machine promotes: [Patricide Enlightenment Package - Free Parenting Guide Included] [Genocide Ascension Plan - 20% Off Limited Offer]. His system menu remains eternally stuck on surreal choices: A. Bake wedding cake with mother-in-law's ashes B. Teach your Mechanized Wolf Spirit to tell hellish jokes C. Carve divorce papers onto the Saintess' spine When Cecilia's Purification Blade pierces his chest for the seventh time, Edmund finally deciphers the childhood love letter engraved on its hilt—the same deicide blueprint he tucked into her cradle during Cycle Three. "Ill pick Option D." He crushes the strawberry-flavored virus capsule hidden in Margaret's final breath, severing Yggdrasil's umbilical cord amidst Joachim's maniacal laughter. As the reboot countdown begins, Cecilia's bloodstained wedding gown dissolves into data streams, revealing the truth: his "fated enemy" is a twin godkilling protocol written by his mother, and their endless cycles are mere glitches in the family's childcare simulator. Now Edmund stands before the sandbox clutching a pink plastic shovel, the system prompt blinking for the 10,086th time: [Choose: Godslayer / Groom / Joachim's Eternal Best Man]. Meanwhile, Cecilia's quantum womb gestates Paradox Entity-42—this time, their child might outpace the gods themselves.
Bearing · 2K Views

Merchant of the Underworld

The Fields of Elysium were progressing quite similarly in the manner of Earth (i.e the living) It's markets were dictated by the paper money and junk that found it's way to the world dimension or plane that the Underworld was located. It's economy ran based on the money printed and created by those still alive, which were strips of paper with specialized ink stains called legacy money. This money held the blessing and the breath found only among the living and was difficult to counterfeit, but not impossible. Other objects of dedication suck as statues, cars, and even spirits of art, craftsmen masterpieces, swords, unfinished paintings, arias, secret messages could be found among the most venerated mansions and mausoleums. In this world all the bonds and promises made above were washed away, severed. Few among the living dared or even could visit. Most souls took it to create a second chance. This wasn't hell or heaven, purgatory or a waiting room, but rather a place to visit and stay. Some choose to stay, some disappeared, both heaven and hell coexisted as all could be found here. Various treasure hunts ensued in search of casinos and lost fortunes. Wandering spirits could be seen as was capable ministers, betrayed generals, scheming businessmen, and black-hearted villains. Ghosts of many pasts from unresolved debts and grudges existed as well. The cries and struggles of the uninspired, thoughtful philosophers and fallen empires helped to add to the chaos that was the netherworld. This was the story I originally wanted to write...however writing is hard. So this is what came out instead.
Michael_v1 · 13.6K Views

Hallowed Be Thy Ashes

Once, there was light. Once, there were men who believed in gods, who built their kingdoms atop the bones of the fallen and drank deep from the veins of the earth, thinking themselves mighty. But the light is gone now, and the gods have drowned in the black tide of their own deceit. The world is a vast and seething thing, its skies thick with smoke that does not rise from fire but from something deeper, older—something that has been watching, waiting, hungering. The cities stand like mausoleums, their spires reaching desperately for heavens that no longer listen. In the great courts of the nobles, the masked and the damned play at civility, waltzing on floors slick with centuries of betrayal. They are not men anymore, not truly—they are echoes, puppets pulled by unseen strings, twisting their knives in games of power that no longer matter. The kings of death, their crowns rusted and their flesh long decayed, whisper prophecies of endings even they cannot fathom. Beneath the streets, beneath the stone, beneath the very skin of the world, something writhes. The dead do not sleep here, they do not rest—they plot. They whisper in voices like cracking bone, singing hymns of ruin to deities who no longer speak, who have forgotten even their own names. And yet, their will remains, etched into the marrow of creation itself. And then there is him. He has no past, no name worth carving into the annals of history. He is not a hero, nor a villain, nor even a man—he is a force, a wound torn through the fabric of a dying world. He does not rage because he chooses to. He rages because it is all there is left. He has seen the suffering, the endless cycles of deception, of power shifting from one wretched hand to another. He has seen the gods rise and fall, has watched kings build their empires only to drown in their own excess. He does not seek to rule, nor to save—he seeks only to end. But the world is not so kind as to simply burn and be done with it. No, it fights. It writhes. It plots. There are things older than kings, older than gods—things that do not want salvation, do not want balance, but only to exist, to keep the cycle turning, to let the suffering continue because it must. They whisper in the ears of the desperate, promising power, promising escape, promising meaning where there is none. They have no faces, no forms, only presence, seeping into the hearts of men, into the bones of reality itself. And so, the game continues. The nobles lie. The kings rot. The gods stir. The dead plot. And he—he burns. But even fire is not enough to cleanse this world, for the embers do not die. They scatter, carried by winds that have no master, to be caught in the hands of the next fool who thinks they are strong enough to wield them. There is no hope. No salvation. No final mercy. Only the great unraveling, the long decay, the inevitable ruin. And the jester? The jester does not laugh. For what laughter could exist in a world that has already lost? ****
Giraffed899 · 14.2K Views

The Veiled Mansion: Chronicles of Shadows and Redemption

SYNOPSIS The night unfolded in a symphony of shadows, the moon casting its pale glow upon the cobblestone streets. As the clock struck midnight, a lone figure emerged from the darkness, shrouded in mystery. His name was Victor Blackwell, a man whose past was veiled in the secrets of a bygone era. The streets were hushed, and the air carried a whisper of suspense as Victor navigated the narrow alleys with the ease of a cat on the prowl. His coat billowed in the cool night breeze, and his piercing eyes scanned the surroundings, ever watchful for the unseen. In the heart of the city, a dilapidated mansion stood as a relic of forgotten grandeur. Its windows were like vacant eyes, staring into the depths of time. Victor approached with a sense of purpose, his steps echoing through the silence. The mansion held the key to a truth buried beneath layers of deceit. The door creaked open, protesting the intrusion of an unexpected visitor. Victor stepped into a dimly lit foyer, where the musty scent of antiquity lingered. A grand staircase ascended to the upper floors, each step echoing the echoes of a once vibrant history. As Victor delved deeper into the mansion's secrets, he unearthed the fragments of a tragic tale. Love betrayed, alliances shattered, and a darkness clung to the very walls of the forsaken abode. He traced the steps of those who came before him, following the spectral imprints of their existence. The rooms whispered with the weight of untold stories, and Victor found himself ensnared in a web of intrigue. A portrait on the wall seemed to gaze accusingly, revealing the visage of a woman whose eyes held the secrets of a thousand unspoken words. Her story entwined with Victor's own, a connection that transcended the boundaries of time. As the night wore on, Victor uncovered the threads of a conspiracy that spanned generations. The mansion, once a haven, had become a mausoleum for the truth. With each revelation, the shadows retreated, unveiling a tale of redemption and retribution. The first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of rose and gold as Victor emerged from the mansion, his quest fulfilled. The secrets that had haunted the night were now laid bare, and the city could breathe again. Victor Blackwell, a solitary figure in the early morning light, vanished into the folds of the awakening city, leaving behind the echoes of a night steeped in mystery and revelation.
Angrock · 26.5K Views
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