MTL - Pirates of the Dead - Chapter 8 Dodge bullet

The tale of Oliver.
An orphan boy from a Mine, in 19th century Europe, filled with Magic.

The idiot Long Gen pretends to be a pig and eats a tiger, takes advantage of the girls in the village, travels across the countryside and forests, monopolizes the beauty and coquettishness, and achieves the legend of “Dragon Gen”. There is a widow in front of the door leaning on the door to watch, and a sister-in-law next door looking through the screen window… This book is determined to be a stallion, with the goal of pushing down and being pushed.

- Description from novelbuddy

On an apparent normal Sunday, Luke suddenly woke up after hearing a voice warning him of something weird. After assuming that it was just a bizarre dream, he felt an earthquake that nearly destroyed his dormitory. As if things weren't odd enough, a zombie suddenly appears in his room and targets him.Somehow, Luke survived several encounters against the zombies thanks to his skill Weapon Augmentation, but then he suddenly finds a mini-sized elf and a mini-sized dark elf telling him that they want to help.After a stranger offer, Luke learns that something very big is happening with the planet, and now he will have to find the strength to fight against zombies and all kinds of weird creatures that want his neck... he will do all that while avoiding being tempted by those two very suspicious elves.The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

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.