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Restart: The World Savior's New Beginning

EARTH was destroyed but some of the inhabitants were send to a different world, which will be targeted next by the DESTROYER, who destroyed Earth. They were given a game like system and a mission to avenge EARTH. Elena was only a 16-years old girl that time and she was suddenly transported to another world full of betrayal, killing, plunder, debauchery and more. That world was also at the verge of extinction by the DESTROYER. But Elena was able to save the world after going through a lot of unimaginable hardship for seven years and became the World Savior. After fulfilling her mission now she have a chance to either stay in this world as hero, or go to another world to start a new comfortable life as a reward. So, what will she do? How will her journey go from now on? Join Elena who is a kind hearted, overpowered and ruthless girl in her journey to enjoy her life to the fullest after overcoming a lot of harsh trials. ______________ Elena is overpowered FMC and she is not involved in any kind of romance. I hate the idea of my protagonist to be a lovestruck maiden like many novels. She is strong, independent, kind and decisive. This story mainly focuses on the adventure and fantasy aspects more with slice of life and actions mixed in it. This novel is my take on creating a perfect Female Main Charector of my liking and to create a story of a proper hero and savior. ______________ The cover does belong to me, so no prob. discord: https://discord.com/invite/fYqDSEYVUM kofi: ko-fi.com/omniscient_ Have fun reading.
_OMNiCiENT_ · 1.6m Views

After definition — Unbeing

There is a world where nothing is fixed. Not the laws. Not the names. Not the boundaries between one thing and another. In this world, gravity is a suggestion. Death is a mood. The colour blue can be redefined by anyone who has the will and a sharp enough imagination. A man can die on a Thursday, and by Friday his widow can decide that "death" now means "a long walk in a garden that has no gate," and he will return to finish the soup she left on the stove. A child can decide that "school" means "a cloud that only rains on weekends," and the building will float away until Monday, carrying the teachers with it, and no one will ask questions because questions themselves can be redefined as answers that have not yet decided what they know. Everyone redefines reality as easily as breathing. The rich change themselves daily—new face, new past, new gravity. The poor cling to a handful of stable definitions just to remember who they were when they woke up. Cities rename themselves every hour by public vote. Wars are fought not with weapons but with dictionaries. The Anti-Semantic War, they say, ended when one side redefined "victory" to mean "surrender," and by the time anyone noticed, it was already history. This is not paradise. When everything can be rewritten, nothing is ever fully real. A promise made today dissolves tomorrow when "tomorrow" is redefined as "a shape that cannot fit promises." Love is exhausting because the word changes taste every afternoon. Truth is a fashion. Memory is guesswork. And somewhere beneath all this, a question sleeps that no one dares wake: If everything can be redefined, what is the definition of definition itself? Cindral had never trusted a world that could change its memories. When the past was rewritten as casually as the weather, what was a man but a rumour his own history could no longer confirm? He did not seek power. He did not want to reshape the rules. He wanted to know if there was any rule that did not answer to a vote. So when word reached him of an old vendor in the secondhand markets selling definitions too ancient to be altered, Cindral went. Not from ambition. From hunger—for something that would still be true tomorrow. The answer waits in a dusty corner of that market, where a vendor whose age shifts with the minute hand sells used definitions discarded by those who have moved on to newer models. Cindral will touch the one definition that was never meant to be touched: the definition of definition itself. That touch will reveal the thread. The thread runs through everything. It ties every word to every thing, every thing to every mind, every mind to every story, and every story to something above. Cindral will follow it upward through layers of narration that make his universe look like a footnote in a book no one remembers writing. He will climb until climbing breaks. He will define until definition breaks. He will be until being breaks. What waits at the end cannot be called a god, because gods require names, and names require someone to speak them. What waits predates the need to be named. And it is not the top. There is no top. The thread does not end; it only changes direction—cutting sideways through hierarchies, through echoes without a source, through hollows where silence is not empty but full of the absence of sound waiting to be born. This is the story of that climb. It begins in a world where anyone can rewrite the rules, and it ends where the word "rule" has never been spoken, never been needed, never been possible. Somewhere in between, a man discovers that he is a sentence inside a story inside a dream inside a definition that defines itself. The thread is already in your hand. Cindral's ascent begins now.
NOVXELITE · 33.6k Views

Claimed by The Winter Spirit

On Christmas Eve, Irina Ardentova walks through heavy snow, heart hammering, desperate to reach the man she’s been craving all year. But a tall pale shadow steps out of the swirling snow. Erwin Frost vale, a winter elf, sinfully beautiful, and bound to the ancient, dying Hearth King. Ice-blue eyes, frost-kissed skin, and a voice like velvet over broken glass. He wants to claim Irina’s body and soul. Her warmth is the last spark keeping the demon king inside him alive, and Erwin has decided she belongs to him. When he pulls her into his arms, Irina was scared but also mesmerised. At the moment, church bells stutter out of rhythm, snow falls in slow. Miles away, meteorologist Adrian Volkov is already on edge. He's been tracking impossible atmospheric readings in the frozen city. He was logical, protective, and quietly obsessed with the woman who was supposed to be warming his bed tonight. When Irina didn't come, he became worried for her. Now Irina is caught between them: Adrian—her human boyfriend, the kind of man who is warm and kind . Or surrender to Erwin—whose kiss is hypnotising , who claims her very body and soul. Sex with him gives unearthly pleasure! Time is ticking. The Hearth King inside the "Winter Spirit" is waking up. And he’s getting impatient. The winter Spirit wants to claim his bride in any way possible. In a city where frost bites deeper than knives and love is indistinguishable from obsession, one question remains: Can warmth survive when winter falls in love?
Anuvuti_Roy · 18.1k Views

Chronicles of The Careless Immortal

Synopsis: Chronicles of the Careless Immortal When the world wept and the skies mourned in thunder, he laughed. Not from joy — but because he was born that way. They called him the careless immortal, a man who walked barefoot through the ashes of fallen temples, wine gourd always in hand, laughter echoing between heaven and earth. Once, he was a name whispered with reverence across the Celestial Realms — the Immortal of Clarity, blessed by starlight, adorned with the Emperor’s favor. Now, he was but a shadow of his former self, wandering beneath mortal skies, half-remembered in myth and half-feared in prayer. Born from a mortal family trained by the immortals, his destiny had always stood between heaven and earth — too wise for the mortal dust, too wild for the celestial halls. His laughter could stir the wind, his sigh could move mountains. Yet, beneath the drunken eyes and careless grin lay a sorrow that even the heavens could not heal. He was cast down — stripped of title, stripped of light — for a single unforgivable sin: Contact with the Dark Realm. For that, the Heavenly Emperor decreed punishment beyond redemption. He was bound to face the Heavenly Tribulation, where lightning carved judgment into his bones, and the heavens themselves mocked his fall. But he survived. And from that day forth, he became the immortal who would not die, the fool who defied heaven’s will — a wanderer among mortals, laughing in the face of gods. --- A hundred thousand years ago, the heavens split apart. The war between good and evil broke loose like a storm across the cosmos. Yet as the flames rose, few could say what “good” truly meant — or where “evil” began. Even celestials hesitated, torn between duty and conscience, law and truth. The Heavenly Emperor, cold and distant, sent his immortals to the mortal world — to observe, to judge, to report what was just and what was corrupt. But when the Drunk Master ; Master of the Jade Cloud Pavilion: the Jade Radiance Monarch, returned from his journey, he brought more than words. He brought questions. He brought truth. And truth, to the heavens, was the greatest sin of all. For when he spoke — when he dared to call the heavens blind — the stars trembled, and the Emperor’s decree echoed across the realms. What followed was not a war between Heaven and the Demon Realm, but a far more dangerous conflict: A war between Celestial and Law. The Jade Radiance Monarch stood alone on the boundary of chaos, wine gourd swaying at his waist, his laughter rising through the ruins of heaven. Behind his mockery lay a vow that even the heavens feared — that one day, he would return not as a servant of heaven, but as the one who would judge it. And thus began the Chronicles of the Careless Immortal — the tale of a fallen god, a broken world, and a laughter that defied eternity. ___ Please! I know it might be a little clinche, but please give it a try. thanks for stopping by.
SelmaQing · 49.7k Views