Cherreads

Test Novel 01

Callen_Parker
“The Age of Knowledge”, “The Age of Wisdom” or simply “The Golden Age”, such is how it is known by many across history. The Desert Peninsula of Brakath houses the grandiose city of Baitul Hikmah, a metropolitan at the epicenter of cutting edge technology, philosophical marvel and scientific discovery during it’s time. However, underneath every shining brilliance of a big city, are shadows. Alas, with these breakneck speed of progress, also comes division among the people. Particularly for the political landscape around the Baitul Hikmah, these division arise in the form of differing religious interpretations and soon, sects. What starts out as philosophical differences eventually turned hostile as the masses polarize into different houses of their own sect, branching off of the largest religion and soon enough, bloods are spilled. Different houses wage war by sending in their covert soldiers taking out important figures from other houses. Regions wage war by sending stealthy assassins to eliminate the threat to their political standing. Religious sect houses sending their covert martyrs to cleanse the world off the opposing “heathens”. Such, is the Age of Assassin. A product of their time, those rejected by progress and science inevitably find shades in this path. The path of the assassin offers both a grim threatening reality, a constant rivalry but also the highest paying gig for these Golden Age outcast. Our story follows how a duo protagonist from a broken home become the finest blade mankind has ever created. How the Age of Assassin give birth to the ultimate weapon; made with goal, shaped by time and equipped with what many would call as death itself.
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I Leash Emperors: The Dead Shout. I Smile

The dead scream for justice. They have been screaming for centuries. In my office on the 88th floor, the sound is indistinguishable from the hum of the paper shredder. I have twelve of history's most dangerous minds in my vault—Caesar, Cleopatra, Napoleon, Wu Zetian, and eight others whose names are synonymous with the word empire. I stripped them of their crowns and their divinity and left them with the only two things that survive death intact: greed, and memory. Then I put them to work. The boardroom is their new battlefield. Stocks are their arrows. Hostile takeovers are their sieges. The First Emperor runs my supply chains with the same draconian efficiency that built the Great Wall. The Queen of the Nile runs my PR division and calls it beneath her. Caesar rewrites the legal architecture of an entire financial district before breakfast and considers it a light morning. The rules are simple. The Emperor with the highest ROI earns twenty-four hours of full sensory restoration—taste, warmth, the burn of real alcohol, everything the synthetic body cannot feel. The Emperor at the bottom earns something else: a Hell Start. Reincarnation as a beggar, a eunuch, a sacrificial lamb in the next cycle. They know this. It keeps them focused. Every full moon, the tavern opens. The millions they killed in their lifetimes gather as my Jury—compressed into a medium that runs on pure hatred, sustained by a spite so concentrated it has proven, against all known physics, to be a measurable energy source. They vote. They decide which of their tormentors leads the next charge, and which of the most venomous among them earns a temporary body to return to the waking world. Wu Zetian shed her imperial robes to kneel at my feet and beg for a private review of her HR directorship. Arsinoe—murdered by her own sister two thousand years ago—spent six weeks haunting Cleopatra's servers and built a perfect weapon before she ever asked me for the body to deliver it. Cleopatra herself believes her beauty is a currency I will eventually accept. She has not yet understood that in this building, the only currency is performance. I do not need loyalty. I need sharp blades. I do not trade in mercy. I trade in ROI. They believe this is my game. They do not ask why I need to win it. Rules? I am the rule. Harem? The highest-tier spoils of a game they don't know the stakes of. Every arc is a different world. Every world is a wound that needs closing. The Emperors do not know this. They never do. Perhaps the last thing standing between their world and oblivion is a man who stopped caring about it long ago. Let the dead shout. I smile. I have to. Tags: #InfiniteFlow #DarkFantasy #HighStakesPolitics #DivineAutocracy #GrimDark #RuthlessMC #HistoricalFigures #DarkHarem Content Advisory: Heavy power dynamics, sensory manipulation, historical figures in morally compromised positions. MC is an unapologetic autocrat. No redemption arcs.
Aetherion_Vael · 2.2k Views