Deus Necros - Chapter 239: Rat Lord’s Might

Gu Nianzhi had no idea how to get the aloof and handsome Major General to fall in love with her.

His eyes were dark and serious. “…Seduce me. If you can do it, I’m yours.”

Gu Nianzhi: “!!!”

On that fateful day, a voice in the sky told everyone on Earth that the world they called home has just been part of some sort of simulation.

Long time ago, the world was ruled by the Primordials — an ancient and powerful race who mastered magic and shaped the land with runes and magic. They built bastions that stood as monuments to their greatness, cities protected by powerful enchantments. But their thirst for even greater power led to disaster. They opened gates to another realm… and unleashed demons.What followed was swift and brutal. The Primordials fought back, but they lost. Their civilization crumbled, their names were erased, and only the magical bastions remained — sealed places protected by forgotten runes that even demons could not cross.Now, demons rule the night. Humanity lives in fear, hiding behind rune-marked walls, unaware of their true origins or how close the world stands to its final collapse.Into this broken world falls Alex — a stranger from another reality. Upon his arrival, he awakens a forbidden power within himself: nature magic and the ability to shapeshift. A gift… and a curse.Magic is forbidden. Hunted. Destroyed. If anyone discovers what he is, he could be executed on the spot. But only through his power does Alex stand a chance of surviving… and fighting back. As he journeys across this dark and ruined land, he begins to unravel secrets long buried, truths about the demons’ origin, and the real reason the world fell.This is a dark fantasy tale of blood, survival, ancient knowledge, and inner transformation. Alex must choose what he will become: a monster, a savior… or something in between.Hello and welcome to everyone who decided to read my first writing attempts!The story you are reading is created in my free time, so new chapters will be released approximately 3-4 times a week. I run my own business, which sometimes makes it difficult to find a moment to sit down and fully focus on writing.I'm a fan of brutal, bloody scenes – the kind that stay in your mind long after you've finished reading. I have a vivid imagination, and when I write, I see each of these fights clearly, as if they were happening right in front of me: torn bodies, blood spraying, guts... none of that sugar-coated fighting.I try to transfer these images from my head to the page with as much intensity as possible, so you can feel the same tension and thrill that I do while writing.I also want to build a sense of horror – especially when it comes to monsters. I'm not interested in easy enemies. These are meant to be creatures you feel before you see them. The kind that stir fear and force the characters into desperate decisions.I hope you'll enjoy these scenes too – brutal, emotional, and full of darkness.As for the plot, I already have a general outline in my head, so there’s a lot of writing ahead of me. In the future, the story may include R18 scenes, but before that, I want to build a solid world and well-developed characters.If you have any ideas or suggestions, feel free to reach out—I’d love to discuss them, and maybe we can add something interesting to the story!Enjoy the read!

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.