Unintended Cultivator - Chapter 48Book 2: : By Right of Combat

A sound, deep and unearthly, cracked across the sky — like the world itself had been struck with a sledgehammer. The stars flickered, then vanished behind creeping waves of ash and violet light. A fracture spread across the heavens, jagged and violent.And from that wound in the sky... they fell.Shapes. Twisted. Wrong. Crawling, jerking — no longer human.But inside a secluded estate tucked behind electronic gates and manicured hedges, the world still slept.Ryan stirred beneath the sheets, tangled in warmth. Jane Blackwood lay beside him, her breath calm and even. For a fleeting moment, the illusion held.Then—Bang! Bang! Bang!“Ryan!” Maggi’s voice, sharp with panic. A second slam, louder. “Open the door! Now!”Ryan groaned, still half-dreaming. “What the hell’s going on…”He slid out of bed, eyes heavy, limbs slow. When he opened the door, Eleanor nearly collapsed into him. Her hands were streaked with blood, her eyes wild.“They’re here,” she whispered. “The sky cracked open. Something came through. People are changing. Dying. Tearing each other apart—Ryan, this isn’t a dream. This is real. It’s happening.”He turned, pulse hammering. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”Outside, the world had ended.And the dead had begun to rise.He reached for his clothes, yanking on a shirt. But just as he stepped toward the hallway. The ceiling of the household collapses on their bodies and they died instantly but the pendant given to him by his mother started flickering and next second, In the world unlike Earth, Ryan instantly opens eyes with a gasp and when he sees himself in the mirror. He got reincarnated in another world.Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Thank you !.

After coming out of a tunnel… it was pitch dark.

“Could you become my daughter?”

On the night of Xiao Ke’s thirtieth birthday, he shared a table while drinking. The person he shared the table with was a cool man who fit all of his aesthetic desires. It was practically love at first sight.

He was thirty; he had reached that age where he was no longer the awkward twenty-something youth. He would pursue the one he liked without hesitation, no questions asked.

“I want you to give me a tattoo. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

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