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Reign of Terror: After The Day Of Wrath

A_Lost_One
Two decades ago, a very strange phenomenon happened. Strange red liquid rained down on all seven continents of Earth. That day, called the Day of Wrath, marked the beginning of the darkest time of humanity. The red rain rewrote the genetic code of mankind. The world fractured into three parts. Some became Distors — those who gained supernatural abilities from the rain. Most remained normal humans. And the rest were regarded as failures — those who did not fully turn into Distors, nor stayed human. They became the greatest threat to humanity. They were called Defects. Because of their unstable powers, at any moment they could mutate into mindless creatures. Because of this, all Defects were confined into the Restricted Sectors across the world. But it was like that was not enough. Another catastrophic event fell upon humanity after the Day of Wrath. Strange space portals began to appear all over the globe. From them came something that made the threat of Defects look small. A full-scale invasion from a different species. The slaughter of humanity began at the hands of those who called themselves Netherkins. In this broken world, Raizal Break is a Defect living at the bottom tier of society. Constantly regarded as a threat, like every other Defect — neither human nor Distor, just a failure. Raizal always curses his miserable state. Yet he has a will that forces him to keep going. Maybe it is because of this stubborn guts to move forward that he possesses a weird ability: he can teleport into a very weird, abnormal Obsidian Hall. No one can tell whether this ability is a curse… or a blessing.
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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