Developing My Little World - Chapter 17: Character Creation! VIEWER SUBMISSIONS

Annan transmigrated to a new world – the Land of Dense Fog. He had become a rare elite NPC who possessed the player’s system.

However, he had the heart of a player.

I like to stir up matters, and unbridled. But, I’m a kind player. The ally of justice who is favored by this world.

I’m on a main mission. As the righteous player, I’m following my destiny to eradicate you, the evil NPC!

Dear player, I’d recommend you to stop running away. The mission is completed. I’m the righteous NPC now to punish you, the evil players…

—

In the long dark night, the crimson moon hangs high in the sky.

Hoarse whisper patrols the streets. The brass steam engine is emitting blood mist.

Your brain is in ecstasy; your eyes are enchanted.

With cracked skins, it sprouts new flesh.

In the gray mists, shirek cries come from the flesh wall that consumes thousands of corpses…

“Stop crying, our players don’t bite. They just want to play with you.”

The Solitary Schemer, Number 1 Player, Land of Dense Fog’s Savior, Leader of 13 Saints, Friend of 12 Upright Deity, Pioneer King, “The Righteous One,” Gatekeeper of Forth Disaster, Crownless Deity, the great Annan advised kindly.

With A Tale of Blades & Blood, the world of Avalion takes shape in the form of an all too familiar world. Filled with morals either clear or grey, war is inevitable while peace never lasts. Fifteen centuries of watchful peace and subtle tension have finally boiled, and the conflict rises once more, now filled with more bloodshed than ever before.Beyond the mountains of the Nortenhein, the Weslands arm themselves to take back their lands and bring forth to the south and the east A Bloody Winter. To the east, over hills and through forests of old and past the waters of the Red River, The East Plains stand tall with the Spire as its center, ready to fulfill their Dream of Vengeance. Deep in the south where the cities stand and to the west where the walls never crumble, steel meets steel as brother fights brother in A Dance of Fire and Swords.Witness the adventures of Orevian Ballister, Norien Ravenhan, Forien Strix, and Loran Aelond as they face battles of wits, blades, honor, glory, and tragedy in a story that shall never be forgotten:A Tale of Blades & Blood.

I found myself in a parallel universe, awakening as a male priest. Everything seemed perfect; after all, as a healer, specializing in aiding women should pose no issue, right? However, I couldn’t help but wonder about some peculiar spells in my repertoire.

Firstly, what in the world is the “Instantaneous Outbreak of Acute Gastroenteritis” spell? And don’t even get me started on the “Osteoporosis” spell. What purpose could these serve in my healing endeavors? The confusion only deepened with spells like “Blood Burn,” “Gradual Freeze,” and “Mental Chaos.” Can I still peacefully focus on healing women with such ominous abilities?

Comparing my spells to those of other professions, I couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast. Mages wield “Doomstorm” and “Ice Age,” swordsmen boast “Sword Rain: Homecoming” and “Wind-Cutter Slash,” while archers showcase “Arrow Rain: Shooting Stars” and “Storm Arrow.” Yet, my ultimate spells are disturbingly named “Cancer Cell Proliferation,” “T-Virus Infection,” and “Rabies Outbreak.”

In the midst of it all, a certain character, some crying girl, laments, “Noooo, I just took a bath, who would have thought that I would become infected!”

Meanwhile, a villain chillingly asks, “Do any of you know what it feels like to burst apart while spouting blood? No! You don’t know!”

Even a boss character confesses, “Dear family, who can understand? I just took a nap, and when I woke up, I suddenly found that I have no kidneys!”

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”