Coco Bandicoot Stench

Glenn Hughes had spent most of his life confined to a hospital bed. Brilliant yet shackled by a cruel fate, he endured ten long years under the relentless weight of an unforgiving disease. Between medications, surgeries, and agonizing treatments, death had begun to seem less like an end and more like a mercy. But when he finally closed his eyes for the last time… rest did not come. The stench of sweat, dust, and blood was the first thing to greet him. Shackled, filthy, and drained of strength, his body was no longer his own. He was no longer in a hospital but in a cell. No longer a patient, but a prisoner. “What the… what the hell is this?” Glenn had been thrust into a world of steel and prana, reborn in the body of a condemned slave. Once a noble, now nothing more than a number among the damned. Yet, something was different. There was a reason he was still alive. Witness Glenn’s transformation as he is dragged through agony and ecstasy, suffering and desire, boundless pleasure and unrelenting torment—all while shouldering a burden so crushing that any other man would break. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ No netorare (NTR), no system, no incest, no consanguineous relationships.

1. Uniqueness and Appeal of the Story (Condensed) 1. Worldbuilding: Historical Grit Meets Supernatural Spectacle Setting: 1930s America/Europe: Blends Great Depression realities (NYC soup kitchens, corrupt Wall Street alchemists) with occult threats. Nazi "Lebensborn" experiments resurrect through cursed artifacts, while vampire clans like Sanctum Sanguinis manipulate London's underworld. Core Innovation: Merges noir detective drama, Lovecraftian cosmic horror, and vampire political epics into a cohesive "dark fantasy" universe. Protagonist Wayne navigates gangster-ruled streets and eldritch rituals with equal pragmatism. 2. Plot Architecture: Layered Mysteries & Explosive Payoffs Opening Hook: A seemingly routine infidelity case unravels into a cult conspiracy marked by glowing cat eyes and radioactive mushroom-induced visions. The mundane detective office becomes a gateway to hidden wars. Key Conflicts: Personal: Wayne’s quest to find his sister Gwen—a victim of 1935 Nazi experiments—while battling his own physical decay (corpse-like stench, stopped pocket watch). Supernatural: Vampire dynasties, hellish legions, and secret societies (Mirror Sect) clash over the "Living Grail," a sentient artifact granting control over reality. Historical: Nazi occultists infiltrate America using gold-skull rituals; Federal Reserve corruption fuels supernatural arms races. Climactic Sequences: Holy Grail War: Wayne’s ragtag Vowbound Cross faction battles vampire hordes in London, with alchemically enhanced revolvers firing self-guided silver bullets. Leviathan Rising: A kaiju-like beast emerges from Liverpool’s waters, countered by undead dragons and Vatican light magic. Twist Ending: Gwen is revealed as a Nazi-made proto-vampire, forcing Wayne to sacrifice himself as a vessel to seal an elder god—leaving moral ambiguity lingering. 3. Characters: Moral Complexity & Jarring Contrasts Wayne (Protagonist): Flawed Antihero: A whiskey-drinking PI masking survivor’s guilt with sarcasm. His fake "model citizen" diary clashes with ruthless tactics (blackmail, radioactive interrogations). Duality: Protects street orphans while exploiting clients, embodying Depression-era moral erosion. Veronica & Wilhelm: Noble Fugitives: Veronica’s aristocratic German past and Wilhelm’s swastika-etched knife hint at dark histories. Posing as a secretary/gardener, they manipulate Wayne’s investigations. Comic Relief: Wilhelm’s mountain-like physique paired with cat-obsessed campiness ("sailor outfits") offsets existential dread. Antagonists: Preacher Jacob: A vampiric zealot who views bloodsucking as divine sacrament, mirroring Wayne’s nihilism. Dr. Isaac: A Nazi eugenicist weaponizing vampirism, blending scientific rigor with monstrous ambition. 4. Narrative Craft: Noir Aesthetics & Pseudoscience Multi-Perspective Storytelling: Wayne’s cynical first-person narration intercuts with newspaper clippings (Jack the Ripper Returns), cult parchments, and Veronica’s encrypted journals to piece together the puzzle. Stylized Language: Gritty metaphors: "Wall Street fog smells of rusted dreams," "Veronica’s hair outshines Coney Island neon." Symbolism: Bulletproof doors adorned with Citizen Kane posters critique hollow American idealism; cash-stuffed Bibles mock religious hypocrisy. Sci-Fantasy Systems: Vampire "sun weakness" explained as uranium radiation side effects. "Eldritch whispers" rationalized as infrasound brainwashing; hell reimagined as a quantum dimension. Weapons: Rune-engraved silver bullets, alchemy-modified revolvers blending mysticism and tech.

Kane staggered through the smoldering ruins of his kingdom, his vision swimming with blood and sweat. Every muscle screamed in protest, every step faltered, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the void in his chest. The imperial prince had razed it all—the palace, the people, everything Kane had ever known. His father’s stern voice, his mother’s gentle touch, the warriors who had once sworn to protect them—all silenced, their dying cries still ringing in his ears. But there was one person he couldn’t let go of. “Julia…” His voice rasped, barely audible over the crackling flames. His heart thudded unevenly as he lurched across the battlefield, the air thick with the stench of death. His sister had been his beacon in this crumbling world, the only one who saw strength in him despite his failings. He clung to a fragile hope that she might still be alive. That hope shattered when he found her. By the lake’s edge, where the water mirrored the flickering flames, Julia lay motionless on the cold earth. Kane’s breath caught, his legs giving out as he dropped to his knees beside her. Her golden hair, once radiant, was tangled with dirt and blood. Her pale skin was marred with bruises, her body exposed—stripped of the dignity she’d carried so effortlessly in life. The imperial prince hadn’t just taken her life; he’d handed her to his soldiers like a trophy, a final cruelty that twisted Kane’s grief into rage. “No… no…” His voice cracked, tears spilling down his ash-streaked face. With trembling hands, he tore off his own tattered shirt—the last remnant of the prince he’d once been. It wasn’t much, but he couldn’t leave her like this. Gently, he draped the fabric over her fragile form, shielding her from the world that had betrayed her. His fingers lingered on the cloth, as if he could somehow give her back the peace she deserved. “I’m sorry, Julia,” he whispered, his throat tight with sobs. “I wasn’t strong enough to protect you…” Guilt gnawed at him, sharper than the wounds seeping through his torn clothes. He had failed her, failed them all—his family, his kingdom, himself. What was left for him now? Ignoring the fire in his limbs, Kane clawed at the dirt with his bare hands, digging a shallow grave. Each handful of earth sent jolts of pain through his battered body, but he welcomed it. She deserved more than this—a proper burial, a monument—but this was all he could offer. As he laid her inside and covered her with soil, his vision blurred, his strength fading. His injuries were too deep, the vial of salve in his pocket too meager to save him. It could dull the pain, perhaps, but he didn’t want that. He didn’t deserve it. When the grave was finished, Kane collapsed beside it, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. Death hovered close, and he was ready to let it take him. Then, a glint of gold caught his eye. Something plumm

Is there anything as true happiness? Even a mute girl like me wonder. Once lost in my world of oblivion but now in light of the dirty secrets that played behind me. Murder like common theft and even crime, like the play of little children. who would lead the dynasty? I wonder lies after lies, hypocrisy stench like the smell of laundry making me pounder. It is no longer a mere selection but now the survival of the fittest. I have to become the heiress which I've been named either by hook or by crook, even if it means relaying on the influence of the man I've been sold to it's now time I cause havoc and disrupt the peace of many, causes the downfall of many, and place many on their toes as they try to discover who the orchestrator is But who would ever suspect a mute?

The sugary sweet life of the beautiful young Miss Asher. Plunged into wealth and riches, while growing under an umbrella shade from the stench of poverty and struggles. The Riechard family's lovely little Miss, who grew absent from her parents love; from a young age living under the Reichard family household. She waxed quickly older with time. Becoming a woman of noble virtues and good characters. Graduating from a top institute of medicine and a perfect fiance who loves and pampers her along with his family. Her world came to crash, when false news flies all over the city. Showcasing her life; painted as immoral and loose virtue, tarnishing the perfect image and reputation once built. Pushed from the once family that raised her, canceling her engagement proposal and left devastated. ----- A rainy night in Tyle city. The silhouette of a petite woman walked under the rain in the empty street, amidst the heavy beating and showering droplets. She dragged her weary herself through the cold and judging streets fully drenched as a lifeless corpse pushed around. Her clothes stuck to her from the rain, with eyes devoid of an actual sight. Crossing the deserted roads across the street, when a car collided into her, falling unconscious on the wet road. Asher opens her eyes, slowly to the soft warmth around her, feeling like death had taken her; only to see an intravenous inserted in her hands and beside her bed a man stood there holding a paper. " Miss, my boss saved your life. In exchange he wants a marriage contract with you. "

In a world ravaged by seven years of relentless war, nations have crumbled and civilization teeters on the brink of extinction. The relentless Shadow Army, led by ancient and malevolent gods, has brought death and devastation, reducing once-proud cities to ruins. Amidst this chaos, a desperate alliance known as the Frontier emerges, uniting the remnants of humanity, demons, elves, and angels in a final bid for suvival. As the war grinds to a bloody stalemate, Alexander, a soldier haunted by the brutal realities of conflict, finds himself in the fortified city of Pingyao. Here, he encounters Dr. Jin, a mad scientist whose eccentric genius might hold the key to turning the tide. Dr. Jin reveals the harrowing history of the Shadow Gods and the legendary Eight Blades forged to that could destroy the universe and make everything cease to exist but also rewrite it. Where the clash of steel and gun powered echoes through desolate landscapes and the cries of the fallen pierce the air like daggers, brutality reigns supreme. Blood flows freely, staining the earth crimson as warriors meet in deadly combat, their every strike infused with the raw fury of battle. Amidst the chaos, Alexander stands as a soldier, his sword cut down foes. Each blow he delivers is rage of violence, cutting through flesh and bone with merciless precision. Limbs are severed, bodies rent asunder, as Alexander's wrath knows no bounds. Doing the great battle 7 years ago against Azrael, Eve mysteriously disappeared in turn cause the apocalypse. Across the wasteland, survivors cuts a swath of destruction upon one another, blood flowing like river with the bodies of men, women, and children, with each day leaving a trail of carnage. As the battle rages on, the intensity of the violence only grows, each combatant driven by a primal urge to survive at any cost. Bodies pile up like cordwood, the stench of death hanging heavy in the air as the clash of steel continues unabated. In this crucible of bloodshed, there is no room for mercy or remorse. Only the strong survive, their will forged in the fires of war, their hearts hardened by the brutality of combat. And in the end, only the victor will emerge from the fray, their triumph measured in the bodies of the fallen. by ancient grudges, "Lost Honor" follows the journey of Eve, a once-powerful warrior stripped of her abilities and thrust into a conflict of cosmic proportions. As she navigates the treacherous landscape of alliances and betrayals, Eve grapples with lost memories and the burden of mortality, haunted by the ghosts of her past. Amidst the chaos, a mysterious figure known as Erebus plots to conquer Earth, unveiling a sinister plan that could spell doom for all. With the fate of the world hanging in the balance, Eve must confront her own demons and forge unlikely alliances in a desperate bid to save humanity. As old enemies resurface and new threats emerge, Alexander & Eve's journey becomes a relentless horror of tragedies of blood and death.

Scorched under the glare of dual suns, a planet turns to desert. Seas boil, leaving oases as the main point of contention in a world mired in violence and suffering. Lying on the desert floor, Raze opens his eyes. The stench of blood fills his nose as he fails to stumble to his feet.

How far would you go for love? The blazing sun and the roaring seas, light echoing through space and the endless depth of the ocean, two sisters who are alike and completely different. Cecilia, who was taken as a baby, the light of the empire and the beloved of all those around her, including Audrey. The child born in the aftermath of her sister's disappearance, who was never loved, who was abandoned and neglected, whose heart slowly closes itself off into the darkness. Will Cecilia bring Audrey into the light before it's too late? Will the bond between sisters prevent the downfall of a kingdom? Can someone be saved after they died?

Anna, now Avyanna, has found herself remembering her past life on her 18th birthday. She goes through a journey of understanding herself, bonding with people, finding love, and letting people in a magic world understand the happiness that sports bring. This is my first book. Hope you like it feel free to make suggestions or corrections.

He was born a stain in the werewolf code, a phantom in human society. He learned the rules of survival in the rust-stench of junkyards. When three women reached into the abyss to save him: One with ink-stained hands, offering a dagger of salvation; One with a serpent’s silver bracelet, gripping a bloodied scepter; The last with ballerina gauze, hiding a poison-dipped rose. He paid in scars to understand: The cages woven from gold by humans, the thrones forged from bloodlines by wolves—they were all the same prison. When the crimson moon rises, the new king must choose: Let three loves become claws to tear the world apart, Or shatter his pride to forge a path never seen— A third road between species.

Lukas's life takes an unexpected turn when a stranger, Claire, moves into his home as an exchange student. Initially annoyed by her presence and their tense interactions, Lukas's attempts to maintain his usual routine are constantly interrupted by Claire's unpredictable behavior. Despite the friction between them, the pair develop a peculiar, grudging connection as they navigate awkward conversations, personal quirks, and unexpected situations together. As Lukas struggles with his growing irritation and Claire's boldness, a deeper understanding begins to form, though neither fully acknowledges the subtle shift in their relationship. Tension, humor, and frustration intertwine in their unusual cohabitation.

The story follows Walter, a half - pure - blood werewolf who can control his transformation. He lives in the Theocratic Diwei Holy Kingdom, where heterospecifics are mercilessly hunted. Walter, aiming to cross the Shates Wall and reach the Greenland Kingdom, stays at the Arthur family's house, posing as their nephew. He tries to gather information to leave, such as observing Baron Kurtis' mansion. During a witch doctor's execution, a werewolf's attack reveals Friar Fula's powerful strength. Walter realizes that the chaos can be an opportunity to contact other heterospecifics, but he decides to wait until the Church's intense hunting subsides. When he later explores the mansion again, he encounters a powerful werewolf, which forces him to flee. However, this encounter leads to a breakthrough in his perception. To gain resources and information, Walter uses his painting talent to become an apprentice of Painter Alva in the South District Church with the help of Friar Ferra. The prior of the church tests him, but he manages to hide his true identity. While at the church, Walter notices a suspicious worshiper who he suspects is a heterospecific. He follows the trail to the slum, where the strong stench makes his search difficult. Eventually, he finds a blood slave in a small wooden house near the forest. The blood slave, Adel, is in a frenzy for blood. Walter enters the cellar and discovers a corpse and magic potions. He realizes the inhumane actions of the blood slave and takes a book from a hidden compartment. After leaving a warning note for Adel, he escapes and cleans himself in a river. The discovery of the blood slave makes him worry about the complex situation in Roya, especially the possible existence of a pure - blooded vampire.

Kieran Valtheris awakens to the stench of blood and the roar of an execution crowd—only to realize that he has been reborn in a body that isn’t his own. Sentenced to death for crimes he never committed, he fights his way to freedom, escaping into the shadows of a city that should not exist. The memories of his past life are fractured, glimpses of a war that already happened—or should have happened. The kingdom he remembers falling still stands. The people he once knew are gone, their legacies erased. Something is deeply, horribly wrong. As Kieran navigates a world both familiar and foreign, whispers follow him, voices of something watching, waiting. With no allies, no power, and an identity that isn’t truly his, he must unravel the truth before history itself collapses around him. Because if he was reborn in the wrong time—what else has been changed?

As the saying goes, "Hard times create strong men." It’s a phrase the Valorian nobles love to throw around, a shiny little motto they use to justify their oppression of the lower classes. Up there, near the sky, where the air is cleaner and the sun actually reaches, they live in their glittering towers, untouched by the rot that festers below. Down here, in the depths, it’s a different story. Rats gnaw on the corpses of those killed for a few dollars or maybe it was just a bar fight that went wrong, ending with one of the responsables with a bullet to the head. Who knows? Who cares? That’s just life at the lower levels. Brutal, ugly, and short. I’m one of the lucky ones, if you can call it that. Thanks to my aunt’s tireless efforts, I managed to claw my way into the Valorian Military Academy. Don’t let the fancy name fool you... it’s just a glorified cannon fodder factory. But hey, at least I get paid while I’m here, and that’s more than most lowlifes like me can say. Still, the question gnaws at me... Will I even live long enough to pay my aunt back for everything she’s done for me? Cadets like me are sent on patrols to "maintain order" in the lower districts, which is just a polite way of saying we’re thrown into the meat grinder. The mafias down here don’t care about uniforms or badges. They’ll kill you just for looking at them wrong. And today? Today’s my first time leading a small squad of cadets on patrol. We’ve been assigned to one of the "safest" areas in the lower districts... as if such a place even exists. The air is thick with the stench of decay, and the streets are lined with hollow-eyed faces that have seen too much and given up on hope. But that’s not even the worst part. No, the worst part is her.... This cheeto-headed girl!!

The Ashwood Hotel is no ordinary abandoned place. It is a living tomb. In 1930, a mysterious fire claimed the lives of 23 people within its opulent halls—including a girl whose body was never found. Since then, the walls have whispered with silenced screams, ash rains from the ceiling, and anyone who enters the hotel becomes part of its eerie legend. When four young urban explorers venture into the decaying building, they have no idea that they are not only facing ghosts but the hotel itself. Sven, the anxious one with a knack for seeing the invisible. Natalia, the diva who feels her facade of sarcasm and lipstick beginning to crack. Jacob, the tough guy whose cool demeanor dissolves into smoke. And Lucas, the idealist who realizes too late that some spirits don’t want to be photographed. But the Ashwood is hungry. Its corridors shift, its victims return as shadows, and the stench of smoke becomes a choking reality. When the group realizes they haven’t ended up here by chance—that the hotel has called them—a race against an unrelenting past begins. But how do you fight walls that breathe? And what happens when the spirit hunting you... is your own reflection?

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'You have been selected'. With those words, he would find himself pulled from the crack of gunfire, and the stench of gunpowder. Thrust into a world not his own, John struggles to find meaning and purpose...

"Never fall alone." Taking those words to heart, was a young soldier. The battle stormed on as reinforcements from both sides arrived. Left and right, allies and enemies alike, fell. Before long, each side was exhausted; the atmosphere was moist in blood, and the air stenched of corpses. The young soldier shouted out in determination as he realized his allies were losing. The young soldier and fellow soldiers watched as his enemies shouted gleefully; reinforcements had come. The battle would not end to their liking. "For the kingdom!" A friendly soldier shouted. "For our friends!" Another voice screamed. "For our families!" One echoed. "For our lives!" One ended. Then, the chanting soldiers were plowed through, limbs dismembered, heads decapitated, and lives destroyed. But still, the young soldier stood strong; his sword was tall, and his spirit was wild.

scene opens with a bloodied battlefield, littered with the lifeless bodies of demons and angels alike, both fallen and holy. The stench of death hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid smoke of the scorched earth. The landscape is a wasteland, a testament to the brutality of the battle that had just unfolded.Not far from the carnage, hidden within the shadows of a cave, lay three figures. Two were gravely wounded, their bodies barely clinging to life. One was the archangel Michael, whose once radiant armor was now stained with blood, his wings torn and battered. The other was the fallen archangel Lucifer, his wings scorched and tattered, his face twisted in agony as he fought to stay conscious. The third figure, In stark contrast to the injured angels, stood tall and composed. His presence was almost ethereal, though his features were hidden in shadow, making him an enigmatic figure in the midst of the ruin. He gazed down at Lucifer, a look of sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry that you had to suffer this fate,” he murmured, his voice laced with regret. His eyes shifted to both archangels, and he sighed deeply. “I’ll make it right.” A brief pause followed, the words after “I’ll make it right” lost in a quiet murmur, as if the figure’s voice faltered, or the meaning was veiled in secrecy. The only words that were clear came at the end, filled with finality and determination. “Take this new life and…” Another break in his words, this time leaving a lingering silence. Suddenly, the scene faded, shifting from the cave of despair to a small, dimly lit room. A young man lay in bed, his body drenched in sweat, breathing heavily as though he had just run a marathon. His eyes flickered open, a look of panic written across his face. He bolted upright, the nightmare still fresh in his mind. “Shit, that same dream… when will it stop?” Lucian Cross muttered, rubbing his eyes as if to rid himself of the lingering remnants of the vision. Glancing at the alarm clock beside him, he saw the time—almost 7:30 AM. He groaned, realizing he was running late. With a sigh, he threw off the covers and reluctantly dragged himself out of bed. It was the last day of school, and though he had hoped for it to be a day of relief, it held no joy. It was the day of the awakening ceremony, a day that would determine his future and his job class, though Lucian’s expectations were low. School, in his mind, was nothing but a hellish place. A place where he was used and trampled on, his life a series of miserable days. But today—today was supposed to be different. It was his last day, and maybe, just maybe, the ceremony would bring something good. He didn’t dare dream too big, but a small hope flickered inside him. The vice principal called out, “Lucian Cross, come on stage.” Lucian gulped as the whispers of mocking and ridicule from his classmates and juniors filled the air. He could hear their gossip: “Why is he even here?” “Bet he’ll awaken nothing.” “He’s just wasting our time.” Tightening his fist, Lucian forced himself forward, his footsteps heavy with anxiety. Reaching the podium, he glanced at the imposing white crystal, its surface shimmering with an otherworldly glow. “Place your hand on the crystal,” the vice principal instructed. Lucian hesitated briefly before resting his hand against the cool surface of the crystal. The room fell silent, anticipation hanging thick in the air. Suddenly, the crystal erupted in a dazzling platinum light so bright it was blinding. Gasps echoed through the hall as a celestial-class phenomenon unfolded. The sound of heavenly trumpets filled the room, shaking the very ground beneath them. The heavens themselves seemed to part, and a radiant Roman cross-like gate opened in the sky above. From the portal descended two armies of celestial beings, one side composed of graceful angels, the other of fallen angels. The fallen angels were an intimidating sight. Dark knights clad ...

Hook: "Miss Jiang, your perfume contains the memories of three dead souls." Full Synopsis: Top perfumer Jiang Se receives an anonymous request to recreate the last scent inhaled by the deceased. When she extracts the forbidden fragrance "Path to Hades"—a signature blend of her ex-lover—from a tycoon's remains, she's confronted by Inspector Lu Chen, an anosmic detective who possesses synesthetic abilities to see smells as colors. "Your 'Redemption' perfume carries the stench of my sister's corpse," Lu Chen whispers, his fingers tracing the vial as silver hues swirl in his eyes—the color he associates with lies. A series of gruesome murders unfolds: 1. A millionaire dies with burst olfactory nerves, surrounded by test strips of Jiang's latest collection 2. A Michelin chef drowns in bitter almond syrup laced with her wedding fragrance 3. A virtuoso pianist's ear canals bloom with jasmine flowers during a death livestream promoting her signature scent As Jiang discovers all victims were subjects in a memory-transplant experiment three years prior, Lu's synesthetic color charts warn: "The next corpse will carry your DNA scent." With 72 hours until her grand perfume launch, Jiang stares into the mirror. The jasmine tattoo on her nape emits azure mist—the final ingredient in the ultimate olfactory weapon.

"Once upon a time..." "There was a young man named Fionn." "He was the king of the Hyperboreans, a civilization that thrived in the distant north of the world, where peace and harmony reigned beneath skies of eternal frost." "One day, during one of his habitual walks beyond the walls of his grand, crystalline castle, Fionn heard a peculiar sound—a sharp squealing that pierced the stillness of the white forest surrounding his domain." "Startled and alert, he gripped the hilt of his regal sword and followed the noise, his boots crunching softly over snow-dusted leaves. As he pushed through the pale foliage, the source of the sound revealed itself—a girl, cornered by a thur." "The creature was monstrous, towering over both the girl and Fionn himself. Its thick, gnarled skin was the color of ash, mottled with scars and patches of coarse, dark hair. A pair of jagged tusks jutted from its wide, snarling mouth, and its eyes glowed faintly, like embers in a dying fire. Long, sinewy arms ended in clawed hands that could snap trees like twigs, and its breath came out in ragged, steaming huffs, filling the air with a stench of decay." "The thur growled, advancing on the girl with a lumbering gait, its massive frame causing the ground to tremble faintly beneath its weight. Every instinct in Fionn's body screamed at him to flee, but he stood firm." "Drawing his sword in one fluid motion, the king lunged forward. With a single, decisive strike, he felled the monster, its roar silenced as it collapsed into the snow." "-Are you all right?- Fionn asked, his voice steady but gentle as he turned toward the girl." "But she didn't respond. She didn't even look at him." "Fionn frowned, puzzled by her silence. Perhaps she was too shaken by the attack to speak, he thought. Yet, something else caught his attention—something even more peculiar." "Her skin. It wasn't the pale, snowy white of the Hyperboreans. It was... pink. A soft, warm hue unlike anything he had ever seen." "-Ehm... I know this might sound a little inappropriate, but... where are you from? You don't look like anyone from here,- Fionn ventured cautiously, hoping for a reply. But still, she said nothing." "-Wait!- He suddenly realized, his eyes widening. -Could it be that you don't understand me?-" "If she didn't respond because she didn't know his language, then she couldn't be from Hyperborea—or even anywhere nearby. But where else could she be from? Beyond Hyperborea, there was only the vast, unending sea... wasn't there?" "-Could it be that she's from one of the other Nine Worl—- Fionn's thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the girl rose to her feet." "She stepped closer to him, her movements deliberate but strange, her expression unreadable. She—Oh!" ~Ronf~ ~Ronf~ ~Ronf~ "Looks like Artair is already asleep..." The mother lowered the book gently, a warm smile on her lips as she gazed at her son's peaceful face. "He must have played a lot today. I usually read him more of the story before he falls asleep..." Leaning over, she placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "Good night, my little Artair." With a quiet sigh, she tucked the blanket around him even more snugly than before, then rose from the bedside. Extinguishing the torch that lit his room, she left, closing the door behind her with care. In the dim stillness of the house, she paused, looking out through the small window at the darkened village. Her thoughts turned inward as she whispered to herself: "I hope, at least, that you'll be able to live a life free from war..."

The scene opens with a bloodied battlefield, littered with the lifeless bodies of demons and angels alike, both fallen and holy. The stench of death hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid smoke of the scorched earth. The landscape is a wasteland, a testament to the brutality of the battle that had just unfolded.Not far from the carnage, hidden within the shadows of a cave, lay three figures. Two were gravely wounded, their bodies barely clinging to life. One was the archangel Michael, whose once radiant armor was now stained with blood, his wings torn and battered. The other was the fallen archangel Lucifer, his wings scorched and tattered, his face twisted in agony as he fought to stay conscious. The third figure, In stark contrast to the injured angels, stood tall and composed. His presence was almost ethereal, though his features were hidden in shadow, making him an enigmatic figure in the midst of the ruin. He gazed down at Lucifer, a look of sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry that you had to suffer this fate,” he murmured, his voice laced with regret. His eyes shifted to both archangels, and he sighed deeply. “I’ll make it right.” A brief pause followed, the words after “I’ll make it right” lost in a quiet murmur, as if the figure’s voice faltered, or the meaning was veiled in secrecy. The only words that were clear came at the end, filled with finality and determination. “Take this new life and…” Another break in his words, this time leaving a lingering silence. Suddenly, the scene faded, shifting from the cave of despair to a small, dimly lit room. A young man lay in bed, his body drenched in sweat, breathing heavily as though he had just run a marathon. His eyes flickered open, a look of panic written across his face. He bolted upright, the nightmare still fresh in his mind. “Shit, that same dream… when will it stop?” Lucian Cross muttered, rubbing his eyes as if to rid himself of the lingering remnants of the vision. Glancing at the alarm clock beside him, he saw the time—almost 7:30 AM. He groaned, realizing he was running late. With a sigh, he threw off the covers and reluctantly dragged himself out of bed. It was the last day of school, and though he had hoped for it to be a day of relief, it held no joy. It was the day of the awakening ceremony, a day that would determine his future and his job class, though Lucian’s expectations were low. School, in his mind, was nothing but a hellish place. A place where he was used and trampled on, his life a series of miserable days. But today—today was supposed to be different. It was his last day, and maybe, just maybe, the ceremony would bring something good. He didn’t dare dream too big, but a small hope flickered inside him. The vice principal called out, “Lucian Cross, come on stage.” Lucian gulped as the whispers of mocking and ridicule from his classmates and juniors filled the air. He could hear their gossip: “Why is he even here?” “Bet he’ll awaken nothing.” “He’s just wasting our time.” Tightening his fist, Lucian forced himself forward, his footsteps heavy with anxiety. Reaching the podium, he glanced at the imposing white crystal, its surface shimmering with an otherworldly glow. “Place your hand on the crystal,” the vice principal instructed. Lucian hesitated briefly before resting his hand against the cool surface of the crystal. The room fell silent, anticipation hanging thick in the air. Suddenly, the crystal erupted in a dazzling platinum light so bright it was blinding. Gasps echoed through the hall as a celestial-class phenomenon unfolded. The sound of heavenly trumpets filled the room, shaking the very ground beneath them. The heavens themselves seemed to part, and a radiant Roman cross-like gate opened in the sky above. From the portal descended two armies of celestial beings, one side composed of graceful angels, the other of fallen angels. The fallen angels were an intimidating sight. Dark knights clad ...

The Legendary Monkey King, Sun Wukong, growing weary of the eternal stagnation he feels he is facing up in the heavens among the celestials decides to descend into the mortal world once more. He figures trying to live a normal among the mortals will bring back some of his appreciation for what he has in the heavens or prove entertaining. Either would be better than listening to another opera hosted by the Jade Emperor while working to be on his best behavior. Problem is, it's been a minute since he had last spent time in the mortal realm, and he didn't think to do some research first. What is this Ohio place he has found himself in? why were there people riding in metal boxes that move on their own? and by the Buddha, what is that stench in the air? Will the Monkey King manage to live a normal life in the modern day? or will he go running back to the Heavens?

Within a desolate realm, where discarded worlds were stitched together, a rupture tore open, releasing a small child into the fragmented expanse. Above him, the sky revealed three eerie moons, while an ominous black mass loomed ominously in their wake. Disoriented and engulfed by a putrid stench, the child awakened amidst a swamp, its twisted trees groaning under an oppressive haze. In the distance, the echoing caws of crows intensified the sense of foreboding. A haunting figure emerged, laboring behind a cart laden with lifeless bodies. Fear and confusion gripped the child's heart as he began to grapple with the enigma of his own existence. Who was he, and what dire fate led him to this grim landscape? The grinning figure drew closer, exacerbating the boy's terror. Unbeknownst to him, his journey would unveil a profound transformation—an ascent to become the embodiment of fear itself, or perhaps... a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.

A missing body of a prince and a dead body of a Queen at the Royal party. Princess Hazel lost her mother at an early age and she grew up with a step mother who was heartless like his father. At a royal party she is framed for murder by princess Lama and princess Lydia who also thinks she is the one who sent intruders to attack her. This fueled up a war between five kingdoms who were in peace. let's find out who will save her and how

**The Super Killer's Diary** With great power comes great responsibility? No, the stronger the power, the more one can demand! In a world teeming with superheroes, he is not the savior of the world, but the ultimate assassin lurking in the shadows. No matter who the target is—be it the superhero embodying justice or the god manipulating mankind—if the price is right, he can take care of it. He is the ghost of the comic world, appearing without a trace and vanishing just as mysteriously, never failing. To him, justice and evil are mere attachments to money, and life and death are but a matter of choice. However, this time, he receives an unusual job—an enigmatic employer requests that he assassinate a supreme being, an act that may even shake the very foundations of the world’s order. As the mission unfolds, he realizes this is not just a game of life and death, but an ultimate battle about the very source of superpowers. Can he complete the task? Or will he become a casualty in this power struggle? Between the blade and the shadows, his diary pages record his blood and glory.

Are the legendary dragons merely myths, or do they exist in reality? Countless scientists and historians have debated this mystery for ages. Yet, the true story lies within an ordinary human—a seemingly mundane person who unknowingly bears the soul of the last dragon. This dragon once stood at the pinnacle of its kind, but on the fateful day of ascension millennia ago, it was left behind due to repeated failures. Its physical form was destroyed, and its soul was forced to inhabit a mortal body. Over countless years, it witnessed the rise and fall of human civilization, enduring endless cycles of reincarnation. With each life, it sought to reclaim its true form and break the chains of fate, but destiny’s grip only grew stronger. Now, with little time left, both the dragon’s life and the world’s future hang in the balance. An ancient dark power has awakened, compelling it to face the truth of its past failure: why was it the only dragon unable to ascend? The answer may lie within its forgotten memories and the significance of the mortal it never expected. This is a journey of loneliness that spans millennia, the final elegy of the last dragon.

As dawn's light filters through the ancient forest surrounding Greystone, the village is enveloped in a thick fog of dread. For a year, misfortune has plagued the once-thriving community—crops wither, livestock are mysteriously drained of blood, and a new fever claims the lives of its people. Rumors of restless spirits and dark omens abound. In a desperate bid to uncover the source of the village's suffering, Father Lucien, the village healer, ventures into the crypts at the edge of Greystone. The crypts, long feared and abandoned, are filled with the stench of decay and the shadows of the deceased. As Lucien delves deeper, he is horrified to discover that the dead have risen. Their eyes glow with a malevolent hunger, and a dark force drives them beyond their eternal rest. The village's fate now rests on our adventurers' shoulders as they must unravel the mystery of the ancient curse and confront the dark power threatening to consume Greystone.