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Dark Souls Lore Sleep

Gears of Eternity: The Anvil of Souls

Gears of Eternity: The Anvil of Souls A Steam-Punk Odyssey Where Broken Gears Birth New Gods IN THE YEAR OF COGWORK 237, When the Eternal Forge explodes, unleashing ERROR#47 corruption chains across three realms, blacksmith Aiden Anvil discovers his split iris holds more than 24 personalities—it's a cosmic forge where each fractured soul can reshape reality. THE CLOCKWORK APOCALYPSE BEGINS WHEN: Steam City's Blueflame Court orders mass memory purges through dwarf-crafted "Soul Crystals" The Dwarven Kingdom's star-map traps reveal mathematical plagues devouring constellations God's Klein Bottle Defense starts birthing stillborn galaxies in Vivian's stardust-woven womb TO SURVIVE THE FOURTH INDUSTRIAL APOCALYPSE, AIDEN MUST: Master weapons that bleed memories: Spring's Sakura Bow (each petal steals a lover's whisper) Winter's Ice Caliper (measures time in dying star tremors) Navigate warped battlefields where: Every gear turn in Steam Court overwrites someone's identity Memory Mines convert thoughts into combustible currency Celestial Forges demand sacrificial equations written in bone Choose between: Purifying Vivian's cosmic pregnancy (triggering Geneva Convention's Anti-Messiah Clause) Letting his 13th personality forge the "Perfect Machine Heart" (erasing human flaws... and humanity) WITNESS THE GRAND MECHANISM CRUMBLE WHEN: Ash Elin's ERROR#47 chains rewrite reality's source code (Ch.35 Airship Inferno) Rusty Maggie auctions the last antidote for mathematical plagues (Ch.180 Black Market Requiem) The final showdown at Corrupted Zodiac Forge demands payment in paradoxes (Ch.200 Eternity's Blueprint) THIS IS NOT A STEAM-AGE REBELLION. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN GOD'S TOOLBOX FALLS INTO BROKEN HANDS. "A masterwork where Blake's 7th forge meets Gibson's neural lace." — SteamPunk Quarterly
Emilia_fisher · 1.1K Views

The Rise Of Sleeping Tyrant

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. Vampires with glowing crimson eyes stalked the night. Demons, wrapped 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 was nothing, a glowing screen flickered into existence before every survivor. [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.] Terror settled in. Everyone had received a skill—some wielded power over elements, others bent time or defied death itself. Yet, some… awakened curses, abilities so absurd or sinister that they sealed their fate from the start. The rules were brutal: Kill. Adapt. Evolve. Chaos erupted instantly. Neighbors turned into 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 had done 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 · 1.3K Views

Song of the Gardener of Souls [BL]

Rowan sees beauty in death. The Order he has sworn to obey only sees defilement. As the reviled Caretaker of the Order, Rowan has accepted his role as a dutiful outcast because he believes it is the only way to prove his worth to the man who holds his sisters’ souls as collateral. With his magic and his voice, Rowan can absorb death and transform it, but only in ways the Order deems acceptable to maintain the stability of the reality it claims to protect Order must subdue Disorder. Reality must triumph over illusion. He is tainted and always will be. Rowan has never questioned those lessons, but that changes the night he harvests a crimson soul that is more than human and chooses to keep it a secret. When Rowan’s song transforms that soul into a beautiful and mysterious man he names Wren, he is forced to accept that sometimes duty is a lie and illusion is the only thing you can trust. As the fabric of the Order begins to unwind and a new kind of Disorder takes hold, Rowan will need to choose again, stand with the Order that held him down, or forge a new path with Wren at his side. He may be the only one who can restore balance to the worlds, but only if he can find balance within himself first. ************************************* Updates 3-4 times per week. Note: This story focuses on relationships. I promise an epic romance, lots of swoon-worthy moments, and a healthy amount of fluff. When it does get steamy…you might get burned. Fair warning for explicit content. I don’t shy away from my spice. There are lots of side characters and couples to fall in love with, in addition to the main couple. If you love the idea of found family, you will be happy. This book is set in a non-heteronormative world, so you will see various gender identities/expressions and types of love. ************************************* Excerpt (if you want the full steamy version, you will have to read the book!): Still reeling from the new magic that coursed under his skin and unsure of how to react to the desire that threatened to take control of him, Rowan froze. Wren's hot breath against his mouth sent a jolt of pleasure through his body, and he choked back a groan. A different kind of panic flared in Rowan's chest, burning him as if he were the one on fire. This was what he wanted, what he'd thought about every night since Wren left. But wanting more was one thing. Acting on it was another. He'd spent so much of his life hiding, he didn't know how to do anything else. One corner of Wren's mouth twitched as Rowan pulled away. When he attempted to free himself from Wren's grasp, Wren just hauled him closer. Rowan liked that he didn't have to think about what to do next. His bare chest thudded against Wren's torso, and the heat from Wren's body merged with Rowan's skin, melting him from the inside out. "What did you just do to me?" Wren's deep voice vibrated against Rowan's chest. "The Disorder of your illusion was holding you captive. I…I absorbed it." "Oh? Where did you learn to do that? Have I been gone that long?" Wren's grip loosened slightly on Rowan's wrists as if he was satisfied now that Rowan was practically sitting on top him. Rowan stared at Wren's lips. He opened his mouth to protest, but immediately closed it again. "I know you aren't going to say that I shouldn't touch you." Wren's free hand splayed over the small of Rowan's back. "Not when you started it." Rowan's breath hitched. "No. I'm not going to say that anymore. Not to you." "I thought you were afraid to be touched." Wren's fingers traced a circle over the curve of Rowan's spine as if testing for a reaction. "I know that I'm not afraid of you." Rowan waited for the panic to set in, but all he felt was desire. "With you, I want…" "You want what?" "I want more." Triumph flared in Wren's gaze before he narrowed his eyes. "Really? Then why are you still trying to get away from me?"
LivChanin · 1M 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 · 706.8K Views
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