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Creating New Species For Your

Creating A Succubus Army In A Fantasy World!

[Warning: Sexual content, lemons, comedy, MILFs, face-slapping, and a shameless protagonist!] ..... Creed Walden was a man of culture. Refined. Sophisticated. A true enjoyer of the finer things in life. Which was exactly why he ended up getting shot in the nuts. Who knew that messing with a gangster’s woman would lead to such unfortunate circumstances? One moment, he was enjoying the peak of pleasure, the next—BANG! Eternal darkness. But instead of fading into nothingness, he woke up… in a completely different world. A world he knew. It was the setting of a novel he had read ten years ago—a brutal, unforgiving wasteland where monstrous creatures roamed, and humanity teetered on the brink of extinction. The Apocalypse had begun. Here, humans awakened incredible talents to survive. Some became swordmasters, capable of cutting mountains in half. Others became mages, wielding fire and lightning at their fingertips. The strong ruled, the weak perished, and only those with true power could thrive. And Creed? He awakened… a summoning ability. Not bad, right? He could call forth mighty beasts, legendary heroes, or divine warriors to fight for him! At least, that’s what he thought. Until his first summon appeared. A gorgeous, sultry woman with horns, bat-like wings, and a very inappropriate outfit. A Succubus. It didn’t take long for Creed to realize the shocking truth—his summoning ability could only summon Succubi! The apocalypse was raging. Civilization was collapsing. People were awakening godlike powers to fight for survival. And here he was. Surrounded by beautiful, seductive demons who thrived on… other kinds of energy. Creed leaned back with a grin, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and wicked excitement. “...Well, I suppose there are worse fates.”
DungeonHunter · 117.7K Views

For Me, For Us, For Everyone

Cigarette smoke curls in the stagnant air, the dim glow of a dying bulb casting twisted shadows against the walls littered with half-torn articles and red-thread connections. Somewhere between the ink-stained papers and the scattered pills, a man sits—silent, unmoving, staring blankly at a stuffed monkey in a clown suit. A detective, they call him. A man of justice, a solver of mysteries. But behind the applause and empty praises, behind the sharp smiles and hollow congratulations, he is nothing but a walking contradiction—one hand holding a case file, the other exchanging cash for little plastic sachets. His mind is a labyrinth of voices, whispers that coil around his thoughts like suffocating vines. His brother grins at him from the corners of his vision, eyes glinting with the truth he refuses to face. His father’s voice is gentle, forgiving—too forgiving. Too much for a man who doesn’t deserve it. Each pill swallowed is another step into the illusion, another moment of stolen happiness before the weight of reality drags him under. He walks the city streets, drowning in faces that admire him, loathe him, see him as something he is not. He is both a hero and a villain, a detective and a criminal, a man trying to outrun the past while shackled to its corpse. And at the end of the night, when the echoes of the world fall away, all that remains is the darkness, the whispers, and the suffocating truth—he can never escape them.
Zeisn · 0 Views
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