Jakari’s eyes burned—one vivid pink, the other black with a white line—heart pounding like war drums. Soldiers lunged, bullets screamed, but he moved like a ghost, disarming, dismantling, leaving bodies crumpled in his wake. Mara’s laugh froze as she saw him, fear cutting through her pride. One final strike, her body collapsed, blood spilling, the room silent but for Jakari’s ragged breaths. He turned, walked past the chaos, pulling the necklace from his pocket and dropping it at Asia’s feet. “We’re done,” he said, cold. She stared, tears brimming, as he walked away.

As we got closer to the Ogre village some of the Ogres began to approach us. "WHAT DO YA HAVE THERE DROKEN?" One of the Ogres asked my father whose name I now know. "THIS HERE BE MY SON, WHO I BE TAKING TO THE SHAMAN TO GRANT THE LAD A NAME." Hearing this I was getting a little nervous. Droken seemed to sense this. "SORRY LADS, BUT THE SHAMAN WILL WANT TO SEE THE BOI RIGHT AWAY." The Ogres moved aside when they heard this, a few of them nodding and grunting in agreement. Droken began to carry me to the large hut in the back of the cave. "DON'T YOU START FUSSING THERE BOI. THOSE LADS ARE YOUR UNCLES, AND WOULD SOONER DIE THAN HARM YOU." As he lifted me up to his shoulder, I looked back at those Ogres and saw them grinning and waving at my curious expression. I turned to look at Droken again and he glanced my way in surprise. "YER A SMART BOI HUH?" His look of surprise honestly looked so funny that I surprised myself by giggling.

In a normal-sized living room, a tiny vintage television sits atop an even tinier side table, looking comically small against the furniture. The screen is locked on its only frequency: The Train Station, broadcasting non-stop footage of locomotives. As the tubes inside warm up, shimmering "scent waves" shaped like pepperoni slices drift into the air, a permanent pizza aroma that no amount of scrubbing can erase. The programming is delightfully bizarre. On-screen graphics transition from the political steam engines of Beltway Fever Dreams to the pastoral vistas of Rails and Cows. After hours, the mood shifts to a dimly lit train car where passengers gaze longingly at heart-shaped deep dish pizzas, proving that on this tiny TV, things get truly scandalous after midnight.

"LET'S GETCHA HOME BOI" As my father started to walk into the forest he spoke to me, thinking that I couldn't understand a word. "YE GEST WAIT 'TILL THE TRIBE SEES YA. OH, THE LOOKS THEIR FACES, YER ONE UGLY OGRE CUB YA KNOW DAT." Despite his thick accent and deep voice I understood my father clear as day. Or should I say night. It was only then that I noticed that it wasn't the sun that lit up the sky but the stars and the moons. *Wait holdup, moons, why are there eight?* "OH, WHAT SEEMS TO HAVE CAUGHT YER EYE LITTLE ONE." said my father as he followed my line of sight. "AH, THE MOONS, YE SHOULD KNOW THAT EACH ONE REPRESENTS THE DOMAIN OF A GOD."

A shadow appeared from behind a nearby tree. *HOLY SHIT* In front of my eyes was a giant, its skin a dark green, its eyes completely black except for yellow irises. Long crooked fangs dripping with saliva filled its massive jaws. Two holes for nostrils sat above it's eyes. Its body was shaped like Hercules if he had a dad bod. Its claws were chipped and stained with blood. Its ears short yet pointy. Its arms were long and its legs were short. *IF MY FATHER LOOKS LIKE THAT, THEN WHAT THE HELL DO I LOOK LIKE* ^I don't know Master, I can only see what you see.^ *Well that's helpful. So, R.S is he going to eat me or what. If so, that would be a huge pile of BULLSHIT.* ^That is unlikely Master for two reasons. One he can sense that you are kin, and two your traits Enhanced Dark Affinity and Monster/Sentient Race Hybrid are making it so that he's more compelled to look after you than to eat you^ *So your telling me, that I have a doting father, that looks like walking shit.*

Darkness. That was all I saw. That was all I felt. Yet, after a lifetime of misery and torment, I didn't fear it. I embraced it. Then a warmth enveloped my body and with it light. As I blinked away my blindness I heard the voice of a woman in a language I couldn't understand. I realized that I was just born. ^RETRIBUTION SYSTEM SYNCHRONIZATION INTALIZING^ ^10% SYNCHRONIZATION^ ^20% SYNCHRONIZATION^ ... ^100% SYNCHRONIZATION^ ^SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE^ ^Hello Master Jack, I am your Retribution System aka R.S and I am here to help you RULE this universe or DESTROY it^ *WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON* ^Master Jack, you died in your previous life at the age of 18.^ *I KNOW THAT, I MEANT WHAT HAPPENED AFTER* ^SATAN asked you some questions and you answered this is the result^ *DO HAVE TO BE SO CALM ABOUT IT*

A young writer tries to find her voice in the midst of being haunted by her own self-criticisms as she thought she could change the world someday but doubts every word she writes but when somebody she once knew comes back in her life, even just for a few moments, her perspective starts to change and she finally starts to realize her true potential and what can offer to the world. Guided by love and courage, she learns to push past the anxiety and perfectionism and rediscover what inspired her to write in the first place.

The ground collapsed beneath Star, slamming her into stone hard enough to steal her breath. Cold flooded the chamber as a crowned shadow descended, beautiful and merciless. Darkness surged into her eyes, her body arching as her tattoos burned and spread, carving something ancient into her flesh. Azrathion stopped the soldiers with one look. This wasn’t corruption. It was inheritance. When Star rose, eyes glowing darker pink, her smile was small and lethal. The world had misjudged her—and it would pay.

The song of the hidden twins, created by the source. Chapter one in this stream! Enjoy its an epic saga

Star sat in silence as money passed through her hands, calm where others would rush. Lives failed her. Fortunes shifted. It meant nothing. Orders were given. Blood was spilled. Empires expanded. When Jakari’s name surfaced, her attention sharpened—not with fear, but hunger. Arkansas was closing. Florida was next.

The feared supernatural event, The Red Snow, drives Stenn and his fellow clansmen into a fight overnight for survival.

I stepped away, alone in the observation bay. Holograms of Jakari’s shoulder hovered in front of me, angles and micro-movements glowing softly. Every twitch, every flare of pain, every subtle adjustment I noted. My heart counted what the readouts couldn’t: his stubbornness, his precision, the way he carried danger like a second skin. I leaned closer, tracing the lines. Not just his shoulder. Him. I sighed, forcing focus back to numbers—but I knew, quietly, I’d always been watching him more than anyone else did.

Stenn Bearclaws' adventure begins in media res. The Cro-Magnon of the Moose Rock clan are under supernatural attack. The Red Snow has come, heralded earlier in the day by a bujant attack.

A man asked the Oracle, "How can I enter the solo roleplay hobby?" And the Oracle said, "Why not hack together a simple dice pool mechanic rules system and run with it?"

Devine Paths have a cause, and for the earth it's the sole Navigator Leif Erikson and his trust in the universe to be part of a major Cataclysmic change in the earth, allowing everyone their consciousness to be restored. You can't expect peace and prosperity after this still, you'll be forgiven if you did, despite Devine awakenings people can be corrupted if they get their hands on the wrong things. Leif Erikson here is our main wheel to get the gears turning in this Alternate Universe

The hallway narrowed. No windows. Red lights bled across steel floors. I moved slow, rifle ready. The server core ahead hummed like a heartbeat. Guards froze, oblivious. One by one, I dismantled them—precision, silence, brutality. Jayla’s voice cut through static: “Jakari, you’re in the blind zone.” I plugged in her drive. Data flooded my HUD—contracts, shipments, assassinations. Alarms flared. I yanked the drive free, heart steady. “Got what we came for,” I said. Jayla’s voice whispered, “I’ve got you. No matter what.”

She was trained to silence the cracks. But now she listens — and the world is starting to remember. In a desert where petals drift upward and roads ripple with memory, a rogue demon knight kneels beside a glowing fracture. The Bloomless Order calls her a traitor. The cracks call her back. When the Blooming Hour begins again, she won’t seal the wound. She’ll speak to it.

The forest withdrew before him. Sound failed. Distance lost meaning. Men moved, then did not. Orders were spoken to emptiness. This was not a battle—it was an audit. Resistance lasted seven minutes, not because it was strong, but because mortality requires time to realize it no longer applies. When judgment finished, the world exhaled and forgot their names. Somewhere far away, something listening understood: correction had resumed.

Rain sliced across the windshield. Jayla drove, precise and silent, while shadows clung to the road like predators. Lina hunched over her sketchpad, pencil moving faster than her pulse. Evelyn Crowe’s house rose from the earth, dark and breathing, and inside, the air shifted. “He’s coming,” Evelyn said, eyes locking on Jakari. My chest tightened. I glanced at the group: Asia poised, Jayla calculating, Lina trembling yet defiant. Whatever came for us, it would face all of us. Together.

The men laughed on the flight deck—until the wind died. Azrathion raised his hand, and their shadows peeled away from their bodies like living things. Blood ran from their eyes as armor grew from bone and darkness swallowed their screams. They knelt not by choice, but by command. Dakota watched, frozen, cigar trembling between his fingers. This was no ally. This was what the world sent when death itself had failed—and it had come for Jakari.