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Anime Rain Sounds For Sleeping

The Rise Of Sleeping Tyrant

[Welcome to the New Era.] [You have been granted 100 Coins.] [Your Unique Skill has been awakened.] [To survive, obtain more coins.] [Methods: Slay the creatures. Kill the others.] Dimension Collapse. The world expanded tenfold, swallowing everything that once existed. The sky shattered like glass, and a massive rift stretched endlessly across it. From the darkness, nightmares emerged—monstrous beasts, ancient horrors, and creatures beyond human understanding. Colossal dragons appeared, their immense bodies eclipsing the sky, shaking the world with roars that shattered mountains and split the earth. As they ascended, the heavens trembled, the winds howled, and creation itself seemed to bow, for they were not mere beasts, but gods of destruction, heralding the end of an era. Vampires with glowing crimson eyes stalked the night. Demons wreathed in hellfire descended in endless hordes. Beastmen roared beneath the blood-red moon, while goblins, wild and savage, swarmed the streets, feasting on the fallen. Cities crumbled. Lands twisted into strange, terrifying shapes. Reality itself became a battlefield of chaos. Then, as if it were nothing, a glowing screen flickered into existence before every survivor. Terror settled in. Everyone had received a skill—some wielded power over the elements, others bent time or defied death itself. Yet some… awakened curses, abilities so absurd or sinister that they were doomed from the start. The rules were brutal: Kill. Adapt. Evolve. Chaos erupted instantly. Neighbors became executioners. Families slaughtered one another. Streets ran red with blood as the weak perished and the strong carved their place in this new world. Yet, amidst this apocalyptic bloodbath, one man did something truly absurd. --- A man awoke, stretching lazily. The world had changed, yet he… had simply been sleeping. A notification greeted him. [You have met the hidden condition of your skill: High Upgradation.] [You have unlocked S-Grade Skill: Sleep.] He stared at the screen, dumbfounded. What kind of sick joke was this?! Monsters roamed the streets, people were killing for survival… and his power was to take naps?!
TheNmbrSeven · 2.8K Views

"DEADLY ANIME ADDICTION"

A Few Warnings for the Reader: This short novel is written for people who appreciate Japanese anime – a worldwide community numbering in the hundreds of millions. It's important to understand from the start that anime is not just "children's cartoons," as animation is often perceived in places like Europe and the USA. Anime represents a distinct form of animation and a significant cultural force, almost like "super-cinema." It can be incredibly dynamic and explore serious themes. Now, let's be honest, a large portion of anime is… not great. Maybe around 90% could be considered simply "okay" or even, let's say, "trashy." It can be blatant, silly, and not particularly engaging. Many viewers watch one of these less impressive shows and then assume all anime is similar. But that's a mistake! Understand this: by doing that, you're missing out on potentially the most captivating entertainment of your life. That's not an exaggeration – it's a genuine perspective. But the remaining 10%? That's where the true "super-cinema" lies. Good anime is unmatched in its ability to tell emotionally resonant stories and deliver dynamic action. Anime creators are free to push boundaries. Their imaginations delve into the complexities of the human heart, challenging the common "European view" that restricts animation to children. This story(it's not a Fanfiction!) is a tribute to a classic anime called "Fate." Fate is not my personal absolute favorite – there are masterpieces which incredibly hard to surpass. But still, it's a powerful example of the story started as a simple eroge and converted to a deeply emotional cult film.
AlviChanti · 3.3K Views

Echoes of Rain

The Echoes of Rain is a poignant tale that explores the depths of human connection and the power of healing in unexpected places. Amara, a woman haunted by the ghosts of her past, finds solace in the familiar rhythm of the city and the comforting patter of raindrops. For her, the rain is a melancholy companion, a reminder of loves lost and dreams that have withered away like flowers deprived of sunlight. On a dreary evening, as she navigates the bustling train station, her umbrella slips from her grasp, rolling down the aisle as if fate itself has intervened. It is then that she encounters Noah, a stranger whose warm presence and effortless charm immediately disarm her. With a gentle smirk and a twinkle in his deep brown eyes, he retrieves her fallen umbrella, extending it to her with a casual heroism that catches her off guard. Despite her initial hesitation, Amara finds herself drawn to Noah's quiet confidence and genuine interest in her life. As the train carries them through the city, their conversation flows like a gentle stream, touching on shared passions for literature, music, and the beauty found in life's unplanned moments. When Amara confesses her complicated relationship with the rain, Noah listens without judgment, offering a simple reassurance that perhaps the right kind of rain could change her perspective. Their paths separate as abruptly as they converged, but the encounter leaves an indelible mark on Amara's soul. As she walks home, the rain no longer feels like a burden but a cleansing force, washing away the layers of grief and regret that have weighed her down for far too long. Fate intervenes once more when Amara unexpectedly encounters Noah at a cozy coffee shop, his presence as warm and inviting as the aroma of freshly brewed beans. This time, she doesn't hesitate to accept his invitation to join him, and their connection deepens as they peel back the layers of their pasts. Noah reveals the pain of his father's abandonment and his mother's unwavering strength in the face of adversity. Amara, in turn, confides her own struggles, the rain serving as a poignant metaphor for the memories that have haunted her for years. In each other's company, they find a safe haven, a place where their burdens can be shared and their souls can breathe freely. As their friendship blossoms into something deeper, Amara begins to see the world through a new lens. The rain that once represented sorrow now symbolizes rebirth and renewal, each droplet a reminder of the resilience that has carried her through life's storms. And in Noah's embrace, she finds the courage to confront the demons of her past, finally allowing herself to let go of the pain that has held her captive for far too long. In a poetic twist of fate, the story culminates in a rainstorm that washes away the last remnants of Amara's grief, leaving her standing in the downpour, face upturned to the heavens, arms outstretched in a silent embrace of the very thing that once haunted her. It is in this moment that she realizes the true power of love and connection, and the transformative nature of healing that can occur when two souls find each other in the most unexpected of places. The Echoes of Rain is a breathtaking exploration of the human spirit, a testament to the resilience that lies within us all, and a reminder that even in our darkest moments, the possibility of hope and renewal exists, if only we have the courage to open our hearts and let the rain in.
Zephyr07 · 5.2K Views

Rain Reminds

Ethan Lee, the heratthroab of the class. Eyes followed wherever he went. He had everything, money, house, car and girls all wrapped around his finger. He was born with a golden spoon and never knew what absence was. In addition to all this, he was a particularly handsome man. But behind all that fame and popularity, he wore a mask to cover an ugly scar. Who would have guessed that someone as perfect as him was living in such a dreadful life. Among all the students who used him to their advantage, there was this one boy who never paid any heed to him. He was always there, in the last row of the class, listening to music and minding his own business. Verch took a special note of this guy, because no matter how hard he tried, he could never get his attention. As his attempts failed over and over again, his friends made fun of him and challenged him to make this guy fall for his charm. It was just another day when Verch didnt feel like going back to the hell he called home. Dark clouds filled the sky and it was quite late at night. He wanted to stay the night at school when some frightening thoughts came to him. The locker room was so empty that even the sound of rain could be clearly heard. Tears ran down his face as he remembered the terrible days he had been through and those that were about to come. He sobbed and wiped his face, It continued. Just then, he heard someone walking up to him. Terrified, he quickly looked up. He didnt want to lose the image of the perfect boy he build up with such hard work. Now someone seeing him crying would ruin everything. But surprising enough, It was no other than, Ethan. The guy he refused to stop bothering all throughout the day. As they both stared at each other, Verch was confused of what to do make this guy never speak of this incident. just then, he couldnt help himself and-
Renlight_ · 9.3K Views

To Sleep In The Sea Of Time

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
man_of_culture3030 · 707.5K Views
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