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Shadow Temple Ocarina Of Time

Shadow of Terror

Is it really that hard to stop using violence? For Collin, it wasn’t just hard—it felt almost impossible. Violence had been her language, her release, her *identity* for as long as she could remember. At just five years old, her father had taught her how to throw a punch, how to stand her ground, how to fight back. What started as self-defense quickly became something more. She didn’t just use her fists—she *enjoyed* it. The adrenaline, the power, the way people backed off when they saw her coming. It was intoxicating. But now, standing at the gates of Nexus High School, Collin had made a promise—to herself, to her mom, to the life she was trying to rebuild. No more fights. No more violence. Just a normal high school experience. The problem? Old habits die hard. Collin clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she forced herself to take a deep breath. The urge to swing at the girl who’d bumped into her earlier was still simmering under her skin. *“It’s just a coat,”* she told herself, even though it wasn’t. It was a gift from her dad, a piece of him she carried with her every day. But violence wasn’t the answer anymore. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. High school was supposed to be a fresh start. A chance to leave behind the girl who ruled the playground with her fists, the girl who sent bullies running with just a glare. But as she walked through the halls of Vale High, Collin could feel the weight of her past pressing down on her. The whispers, the stares, the familiar faces from middle school—they all reminded her of who she used to be. And then there was *him*. The boy she’d tormented back in middle school, the one who now looked at her with a mix of fear and resentment. His presence was a stark reminder of the promises she’d made—and how easily they could be broken. Collin had always been a fighter. But now, the biggest battle wasn’t against someone else—it was against herself. Could she really leave her old life behind? Could she keep her promise and live a normal life, or would the temptation to throw just *one more punch* be too much to resist? The bell rang, signaling the start of her first class. Collin squared her shoulders, took another deep breath, and stepped into the classroom. This was her chance to prove she could change. But deep down, she knew it wouldn’t be easy.
zyuka · 636 Views

Shadow of Domination (SoD)

--- He has no past. No name. No identity. Only whispers of a shadow that bends the world to its will. A ghost with no face, yet a force that has already orchestrated 58,221,461 deaths. Entire nations have fallen, yet no one knows who pulled the strings. But when his very existence becomes a threat to the world itself, the gods take notice. Among them, a goddess, sensing an impending despair beyond even her comprehension, makes a desperate decision—to erase him from reality before it is too late. But something goes wrong. Instead of being destroyed, he is cast into another world, one ruled by magic, war, and divine will. Yet even gods are not beyond his reach. Here, he awakens without a past, without a name—only the weight of an existence that should not be. His mind is empty, his history erased. But in the void of his lost memories, one image remains: A woman’s headless corpse, bathed in blood. And a single, unshakable truth—she was his mother. There is no name, no face, no history. Only the weight of something forgotten—something terrifying. Then, the world gives him a name. Hale. But deep inside, he knows—it isn’t his. It never was. From the moment he appears, fate convulses, reality bends, and the world itself recoils in fear. Why? Who is he? What did he forget? In a realm where power bends to those who grasp it, he does what he does best—control everything from the shadows. But something lurks in the depths of his mind. A missing truth. A lost identity. And a question more terrifying than the gods themselves. Who... or what... is he? ---
A_Newbie_ · 4.7K Views

Splinters of Time

In the coastal town of **Sarween**, where the waves of the sea collide with the curse of suspended time, a legend unfolds about a man imprisoned in an endless loop of guilt and oblivion. Adham, the writer who turned his heart into a ledger of lies and ghosts, battles the demons of his memory through **stone towers** that rise from the belly of the sea like divine punishment. Here, where events are born from the womb of pain, **Yara** transforms from a lost daughter into a cosmic enigma: a child who vanishes on a crimson night, only to return as mathematical ciphers that pierce the fabric of reality. Her letters are not cries for help, but calls from parallel worlds mocking humanity’s attempts to grasp time. The **twenty towers**, numbered with the blood of victims, are not mere stone—they are open books bleeding with the wounds of a past rewriting itself. Each tower is a mirror reflecting Adham’s fractured selves: a terrified child, a guilty youth, a weary old man. The **scar above the heart** is but a fiery seal reminding him that the truth is a beast fiercer than any fiction. In this world, time is a poisoned loop: the sea spits out corpses bearing identical DNA, the **white shark** devours the dreams of the past, and shattered mirrors forge parallel universes where Yara does not die… but morphs into an idea haunting her creator. This tale is not a narrative, but a morbid dance between creator and creation. Adham, who believed writing would redeem him, discovers he authored his own prison with his hands: every sentence carved a scar, every chapter lit a candle in the darkness of his conscience. This novel is not about lost time, but about a being who builds his cage from falsified memories and battles mirrors reflecting his image as a crownless executioner. Here, in Sarween, the truth is not a victim… but a killer cloaked in martyrdom. Thus unfolds the legend of **Shards of Time**: like Narcissus gazing at his reflection in the river of memory, drinking from it until death. But here, the river is a sea that regurgitates the names of victims every night, and the mirrors do not reflect faces… they devour them.
Muntadher_Khudhur · 405 Views
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