- — ✎ — - The five year anniversary of Murphy’s vow was finally upon him, but he had long since completed his promise. No later than a year after the final battle, he successfully unsealed his seventh gate. That came largely as a result of his success in that battle, and the fruits he claimed in its aftermath. Specifically, he salvaged Erebus’ consciousness. Once it was in his dream realm, he had all the time he needed to crack it. Other than being the de facto leader of Physis Nomos, the old man had dipped his toes in all kinds of criminal enterprises over the years. His psychic powers made him the perfect assassin. Lethal, traceless, silent. By reliving through his memories, Murphy salvaged hundreds of interesting connections, and tasked the Chainbreakers to follow up and unearth those leads. The cases they unveiled had all but quaked the world. From businessmen in Asia, to politicians in the deep state of the US, people from all over the world were incriminated. Proof w
Thank you to whoever made it this far :) I'll revise this at a later date, after I proof read and edit the book once or twice.At that point, it will be marked as complete and I will bid farewell to the site. Though I am glad to have accrued some readers, and met many peers among authors, it has been a tad underwhelming. Unable and unwilling to say anything more, I'll simply address some gratitude to Helen Bold.She's an excellent editor and author on the site, and has been the reason I delivered this book to you.Consider checking out her books. As for myself, I do have other book(s) published.I can't share links, but you can search for my name and they should appear. Alternatively, just add me on Discord, and I'll help you find your way. Thank you again to everyone who's given this a chance,As always, your attention has been a blessing.~Raven
The Carpathian mountains stretched across Europe like the spine of a slumbering dragon. At least, Murphy liked to dream of it that way. Only a dragon could retain its bearing in the face of mankind’s ever-expanding conquest towards self-destruction. Even the stars refused to twinkle with the same vibrance, all but abandoning mankind to their folly. Instead, the sky was covered by satellite dots blinking in unison like pixels on a giant screen. Thanks to the “great innovation” dubbed StarVeil, half of the Eastern European countries saw nothing but ads on the heavenly vault. Looking down at the distant forest of skyscrapers that lit up like the downtown of Tokyo, he laughed. These people, despite living in a backward Romanian city, surrounded themselves in a false cage of light. They abandoned everything for a promised land built atop nothing but lies… “You will own nothing, and you will be happy!” Quoting the infamous prophecy, his sardonic laughter continued, echoing for miles on e
A lengthy remembrance… Murphy’s journey started on a hot spring day like any other. Struggling to sleep, he groggily opened his eyes and stared into the dark. Across the bleak canvas of the twilight sky, vivid visions came into view. Their whispers enthralling, but distorted, like a distant psychedelic trip. Alas, too brief. It did not last. Before long, he was awake. The story faded as quickly as it emerged, unseen. His mind found itself preoccupied in no time, chasing away the possibility of him getting any rest before dawn. Unwilling to spend even the weekend mulling about his dull job, or the tiresome family gathering he was set to attend that day, he reigned his mind under control. It was no easy feat to guide one’s thoughts, but he had enough practice. As a child born in a destitute country, if there was one thing children could afford — it was time to think. He tore his mind away from the banality of everyday worries, and guided his somewhat lucid imagination towards so
It had been months since that silent proclamation, and little by little, the cobbled up ideas transformed into a true draft. Something he felt was presentable, a snippet he could share with the world without shame. The document was light. At least, it weighed little if measured in kilobytes and words. To Murphy, however, that tiny space on his hard drive was everything. It bore a portion of his soul, so it could not be any heavier. Having written for months, you would expect to see a few volumes of readied material, but no. It was a few thousand words, redrafted endlessly time and time again. If his mind was to be laid bare before the world — it had to be perfect. His mania ended only when he himself was capable of sinking into the allure of that false premise. When each word touched his strings, and all but involuntarily made him feel something special. When his text became a drug, then and only then — he felt ready. With his work complete, it was time to give it a name and
The optimism did not last long. When he first shared his dream, it seemed more like the beginning of a nightmare. The online group he expected to find support in had only barbs to give. Voyek#2352: 50 hours, and this is the best garbage you could come up with?Lanka#5321: The only thing you should be writing is a farewell note to your parents… A stream of curses caged him in a wall of self doubt. Among the dozen or so brush-off compliments, those baleful retorts stuck out to him as if highlighted by God himself. His eyes focused solely on them. That invitation to quit. To delete everything his pen name stood for and close his eyes. It would be so… easy. A tantalizing offer that promised serenity and peace. Staring at the chat, he noticed that people had long since moved on from discussing his work. To them, dissing his effort was done in passing, less trivial than a joke. Taking the criticism at face value, he took back his work and redrafted it anew. You can’t fix a marred stat
Murphy fell prey to his dreams that night. He foresaw greatness, a rise so meteoric it awed his closest friends and family. He imagined strangers relishing the dream he wove for them, and how expectant they would be for new releases. Then, he woke up — no readers. It had been a few hours since his novel was posted, but despite the metric showing thousands of surface views, there was not one person who deigned to give it a click. He refreshed, but nothing changed. After breakfast, he refreshed again. Still not one eyeball. ‘Strange…’ He had posted thousands of words, polished after many months of ardor. Surely, among the tens of millions, there would be someone. Anyone… There wasn’t, so he refreshed again. He expected that repetition to somehow dispel the curse, but everyone passed by all the same, sparing his work nary a glance. ‘Why does no one care?’ Even as he asked himself this question, he failed to obtain any insights. Try as he might, he thought it was fine. A w
* You have a friend request from Elend#5989 Waking up to a sudden notification, he groaned and reached for his phone to turn it off. Yet, just as he grabbed a hold of it, a new message froze him in his place. Elend#5989: Hey! I’ve read a bit of your book, and it’s great! “Holy shit,” he rejoiced and put his glasses on to double check, “I be damned, and it’s a girl no less.” Joyfully setting the message aside, he went through his morning routine with a pep in his step, thrilled to have his first fan. Even if the compliment was generic, it was still something to cherish. Just as he got back online, however… Elend#5989: I’m an assistant editor with GreatNovel. I want to help monetize your book. Have you signed contracts? “God damn it, I’ve been had by a freaking bot...” Despite giving voice to a sardonic chuckle, he was quite bitter inside. He’d been baited like a typical boomer. Even as he guessed if it was a crawler bot he was dealing with, he remained polite and abstained from