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How To Avoid Sleep While Studying Late Night

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 · 4.1K 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 · 707.7K Views

Been A While

"Do you love me, Jackson?" Jackson cupped her face, his touch gentle, his lips hovering just above hers. "With everything I have, Elissa. Always." She had believed him. From the moment they met, Jackson had been her safe place—her dream of love wrapped in warm embraces and whispered promises. He was everything she had ever wanted, a man who knew how to love her, how to make her laugh, how to set her body on fire with a single touch. Their love had been effortless, intoxicating, the kind that made the world disappear. Marriage was supposed to be a beautiful beginning, and for a while, it was. Jackson showered her with affection, made her feel like a queen. His family embraced her, and she basked in the warmth of a home she had longed for all her life. Every night, she fell asleep in his arms, believing she was the luckiest woman alive. Until the love in his eyes turned into something else. The passion that once burned between them became cold, distant. His once gentle touch became possessive, almost punishing. The man who had once worshipped her body began to treat it like a right, not a gift. She wasn’t sure when it changed—was it when she got pregnant? When she moved into his family home? Or had Jackson been wearing a mask all along? "Jackson… what happened to us?" she whispered one night, hoping for the man she married to return. He looked at her, his gaze unreadable, and for the first time, she felt afraid. "Go to sleep, Elissa," he said, turning away. But she couldn’t. Because deep inside, she knew—something was breaking. And this time, love alone wouldn’t be enough to save it.
SHARM_LEOPARD · 3.1K Views
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