Sorry, I'm Just a Weak Little Vampire
Genevieve already died once. A silver stake. A half-blood's betrayal. Never again.
She wakes up three years before the prophecy. Her power is intact. Her knowledge is complete. She could destroy everyone who wronged her.
But that sounds like effort.
So instead, she plays weak. She trips. She cries. She hides under desks. She tells everyone: "Sorry, I'm just a weak little vampire."
Let Rosalie and her cheat system think they're winning. Let them steal the glory. Genevieve just wants to nap and eat blood pudding.
Too bad no one believes her.
Now the students are torn between mocking her and idolizing her. Rosalie's system is crashing. And Genevieve's "useless" act is accidentally building a legend she never wanted.
She just wanted to be trash.
Why won't anyone let her?
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Chapter 8
The back corner of the Academy library was dead quiet. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight that pierced the gloom.
Genevieve sat at a heavy oak table. Her cheek was pressed flat against the hard, leather cover of a massive textbook titled History of Dark Magic. She was drooling slightly, fast asleep.
Rosalie marched down the aisle, clutching her notebook. She stopped at the table. She glared at Genevieve's peaceful, sleeping face.
Rosalie slammed her knuckles onto the solid wood table.
The loud thud jolted Genevieve awake. She snapped her head up, blinking against the light. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and glared at Rosalie.
"What do you want?" Genevieve snapped, her voice thick with sleep and irritation.
Rosalie forced her face into a mask of desperate humility. She pushed the open notebook right under Genevieve's nose.
"Sister, please," Rosalie begged, her voice loud enough to echo slightly. "This extraction problem is too hard. Even Senior Dorian couldn't solve it immediately. Only a pureblood genius like you could possibly know the answer."
[System Alert: Flattery Trap engaged. If target fails to answer or reacts with anger, deduct 10 Prestige Points.]
Genevieve glanced at the page. The complex runes and formulas were child's play. She had mastered this exact extraction method three centuries ago. It was an outdated, overly complicated mess.
She opened her mouth to play dumb.
But out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of movement. Behind the nearest bookshelf, a sliver of a gray lab coat was visible in the shadows.
Dorian. He was spying on her.
Genevieve's brain shifted gears instantly. If she played dumb now, Dorian would know she was faking it. He was too smart. She needed to do something so absurd it would ruin Rosalie's trap, but keep her own lazy persona intact.
Genevieve let out a massive, jaw-cracking yawn.
She reached into the pen cup on the table and pulled out a thick red marker.
Without even looking closely at the page, Genevieve slashed two massive, ugly red lines right through the center of Rosalie's perfectly written formulas.
"Just cut the heat in half and drop in some mandrake juice," Genevieve mumbled, sounding like she was talking in her sleep. "Why are you making it so complicated?"
Rosalie stared at the ruined page. The red ink bled through the paper. She thought Genevieve was just scribbling nonsense to humiliate her.
Rosalie's heart soared with vicious joy. She opened her mouth to loudly accuse Genevieve of destroying her hard work.
Behind the bookshelf, Dorian stopped breathing.
His pupils dilated to the size of coins. His genius brain instantly ran the simulation of Genevieve's casual words. Cut the heat. Add mandrake. It bypassed the entire rune structure. It was a flawless, revolutionary shortcut.
Shock hit Dorian so hard his muscles spasmed. His elbow jerked backward, slamming into the wooden shelf.
A heavy, iron-bound encyclopedia tipped over the edge and crashed onto the floor with a deafening BANG.
Genevieve jumped in her seat, faking a startled gasp. She looked toward the shelf.
Dorian stepped out of the shadows. He didn't even look embarrassed about being caught. He lunged forward, practically sprinting to the table.
Rosalie saw him and immediately put on her victim face. "Senior Dorian, look! She ruined my notes-"
Dorian ignored her completely. He snatched the notebook right out of Rosalie's hands.
He stared at the red slashes. His hands were physically shaking.
"Brilliant," Dorian whispered, his voice trembling with raw awe. He looked up at Rosalie, his eyes burning with manic excitement. "Don't you see? The mandrake stabilizes the blood core! The heat reduction prevents the magical friction! It's a perfect, elegant solution!"
Rosalie froze. The fake tears in her eyes dried up instantly. Her face turned the color of spoiled milk.
[System Error: Target Dorian's reverence for Genevieve increased by 500%. Plunder completely failed.]
Genevieve watched Dorian lose his mind over a basic trick. She rolled her eyes and let out another loud sigh.
She reached deep into the pocket of her oversized dress. Her fingers brushed against a high-tier, incredibly pure blood crystal. Thank the ancestors I had the foresight to raid the Court's secondary vault before Lord Marcus officially cut off my supply, she thought with a mental smirk. It pulsed with dark red light.
She pulled it out and tossed it onto the table. It rolled and hit Rosalie's hand.
"That's the trash leftover from the last time I did it," Genevieve said, waving her hand dismissively. "Take it and go play somewhere else. Let me sleep."
Rosalie stared at the priceless crystal sitting against her skin. The sheer condescension of the gesture burned her pride to ash. Her hands shook as she grabbed the crystal, suffocating on her own greed and humiliation.
Dorian looked at Genevieve. He saw her absolute disregard for wealth and groundbreaking knowledge.
In his mind, Genevieve wasn't a piece of trash. She was an eccentric, hidden god, casually throwing miracles at mortals.
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9.2
Clara was drowning in student debt and barely making rent when she downloaded a fantasy mobile game to escape reality.
Inside the game, an exiled prince named Alex was freezing to death. Pitying him, she spent her last few dollars on microtransactions to fix his shelter and cure his poison.
But the game was far too real.
Every time she paid, the prince reacted. When she complained aloud about going broke, the in-game army suddenly halted, as if the prince had heard her voice.
Then, the terrifying real-world consequences hit.
Clara woke up to find her water glass and a box of Kleenex had vanished from her locked bedroom overnight.
She frantically searched the tiny apartment, her heart pounding in her chest.
She thought she was losing her mind. Had she thrown them out in her sleep? Was there a stalker hiding in her home?
How could physical objects just disappear into thin air behind a deadbolted door?
Until she looked at her nightstand.
Sitting exactly where her missing items used to be was a glowing, weightless crystal cup that defied all logic.
And on her laptop screen, the exiled prince was carefully holding her Kleenex box, offering a mountain of real gold on an altar.
She hadn't just downloaded a mobile game; she had opened a cross-dimensional trade route with a desperate future king.
8.4
My mate, Alpha Santino, brought another woman into our home. She was a pregnant Omega, the widow of his fallen Beta, and he swore to protect her above all others.
He gave her my seat of honor, left our bed cold each night to soothe her feigned nightmares, and ignored me completely. I was the Luna of the Blackstone Pack, but I was becoming a ghost in my own life.
The final betrayal happened in my own bedroom. She stood over my vanity and deliberately shattered my mother's sacred moonstone necklace, the last piece of my family I had left.
When Santino burst in, he didn't see my heartbreak. He saw only her fake tears.
"What did you do to her?!" he roared, his voice laced with the Alpha's Command, a sacred power he used to crush my will.
Then, for her, he did the unforgivable. He raised his hand and struck me, his mate.
In that instant, the love I had desperately clung to turned to ice. The man I had sworn my life to had not only betrayed me but had defiled the sacred bond the Goddess herself had blessed.
As the pain of his betrayal ripped through me, something ancient and powerful awakened in my blood. I rose to my feet and spoke the words that would destroy his world and begin mine.
"I, Alessia Bianchi, reject you, Santino Moretti, as my mate."
7.4
Shrouded in tales of pleasure and mystery, embark on a sensual adventure in a Cities of Sins, where the supernatural blends with the mundane in a city shrouded in fantastic tales and debauchery.
Come and discover this city, its inhabitants, and its ancient stories, amidst a tale of pleasure, lust, and tales that reveal the mysterious teachers who hide their secrets.
The question is: Are they really human or vampires?
This is the world where the dead, vampires, and witch tales intertwine in this hidden city full of mysteries from the past, amidst a life full of pleasure and lust.
In the midst of a mundane beginning, the girl was betrayed. Instead of Samantha finding solitude and suffering, she discovered a world of luxury, with her saviors, her teachers of pleasure, fantastic tales, legends of passion, shrouded in the supernatural. They embark on a limitless adventure, with sex, pleasure, and passion, which are always shrouded in fantastic power, in the world of passion and debauchery.
Lovecraft is a city that never sleeps. Built upon ancient ruins and fueled by centuries of secrets, it is known as the City of Sins, where pleasure and danger walk hand in hand. Its narrow streets, illuminated by red lanterns and eternal shadows, are the stage for encounters that defy reason: reclusive vampires hiding in decaying mansions, werewolves roaming under the full moon, witches whispering spells in hidden cafes, and mobsters controlling the underworld with iron fists and passionate hearts.
At the heart of the city, the Lost Canvas-a secret gallery-holds living portraits of forbidden loves and blood pacts. Each painting is a story, each brushstroke a memory of encounters that have marked generations. It is there that the handsome vampire Adrian, reclusive and mysterious, observes the world without ever fully surrendering. His life is a mosaic of interrupted passions, of glances that never turned into words, of promises lost in the night. But Lovecraft doesn't allow anyone to remain invisible for long.
Between the luxurious salons of socialites, the secret clubs of businessmen, and the alleys where supernatural mafias seal their pacts, the city pulsates with stories of desire and magic. Each encounter is brief but intense: a stolen kiss on a Gothic staircase, a forbidden dance in a hall lit by black candles, a whispered conversation on a ghost train that crosses the city at three in the morning. Lovecraft is made of these instants-moments that seem small, but carry the weight of eternities.
The city's inhabitants coexist with the mundane and the supernatural as if they were part of the same fabric. Businessmen negotiate with vampires, artists are inspired by fairies and elves, mobsters share territories with werewolves. It's a metropolis where power is measured not only in money, but also in spells, secrets, and seduction. Terror is subtle, almost elegant, manifesting itself in lingering gazes, in silences that conceal more than they reveal, in pacts that are never written, but always fulfilled.
Is a collection of stories that reveal Lovecraft's strengths: his ability to transform the everyday into magic, to make love a danger, and sin a promise. It is a city of wonders and dreams, of obscure encounters and ardent desires, where every corner holds a story and every shadow is an invitation. Lovecraft is not just a setting-he is a character, a lover and accomplice of all who dare to live in his eternal night.
7.3
For a thousand years, the Vora beastmen have been cursed by a madness-a burning sickness in their blood that only one thing can soothe: the legendary 'Blood-Blessed,' a human female whose very scent is a living cure.
When a virus wiped out nearly all females, their desperate hunt for this mythical girl turned into a brutal conquest. They crushed our fallen human kingdoms, reducing us to breathing meat under their cruel "Livestock Codex."
To save my little sister from being branded for their elite breeding auction, I took her place in the male-only death draft.
Disguised as a boy, I was thrown into a pitch-black labyrinth, a living sacrifice meant to feed their ultimate nightmare: the feral, half-dragon Mad King.
He tore our steel cage apart like wet paper. I pressed my back against the freezing wall, watching in horror as he slaughtered the screaming men around me.
He ripped the filthy coat from my body, exposing my true gender. As his crimson eyes locked onto my throat and he opened his jaws for the kill, my rage burned away my fear.
I was a pureblood heiress of a dead empire, but I would not die cowering like an animal. I gripped a shard of glass, ready to aim for his eye.
But as he lunged, the glass sliced my palm. The moment my blood hit the air, the legend became my reality. The sweet, intoxicating scent that flooded the dark wasn't just my pheromones-it was the living cure.
The terrifying, apocalyptic tyrant froze mid-strike. He dropped his massive body to his knees, his fangs retracting as he gently, desperately licked my bleeding hand.
His chaotic red eyes darkened with an absolute, world-ending obsession as he pulled my fragile body against his burning chest.
"Mine."
I was meant to be his final meal. They called me the Blood-Blessed. He called me his Queen.
7.9
For five years, April Gamble loved Julian Travis with everything she had, trusting him completely.
But on a stormy night, he casually tossed a liquidation agreement at her feet, single-handedly destroying her grandfather's company.
He coldly admitted he only dated her to steal Vance Group's internal financial data.
"You were convenient," Julian said, swirling his whiskey without a shred of guilt.
Before April could even process the brutal betrayal, a breaking news alert lit up her phone.
She watched in absolute horror as her grandfather jumped from the ledge of the Vance Tower on live television.
Julian looked at her writhing, screaming form with utter boredom and simply ordered his bodyguard to throw her out.
Blinded by grief and tears, April sped into the torrential rain, only to be completely crushed by a hydroplaning transport truck at an intersection.
As the shattered glass tore into her skin and the metal crushed her ribs, she died with a hatred so pure it made her teeth ache.
Why did five years of devotion mean absolutely nothing to him? Why did her family have to die just to feed his ruthless greed?
When she opened her eyes again, the harsh hospital lights blinded her, but the familiar burn scar on her arm was gone.
She wasn't the betrayed financial analyst April Gamble anymore.
She had woken up in the body of Altagracia Blanchard, the most notorious, obscenely wealthy heiress in New York.
Julian had taken everything from her, but now, armed with a billionaire's empire, she was going to bury him.
9.4
I was the eldest daughter of the powerful Kirk family, sent away to a Swiss sanatorium to recover from my supposed mental illness.
But my stepmother, Johnie, never intended for me to get better. She sent her personal cleaners to drag me onto a plane back to Washington D.C.
In my past life, I didn't know they were assassins. I was forcefully injected with heavy sedatives and locked in a secret torture chamber inside our luxury estate.
My stepmother and cousin skimmed my inheritance while watching me suffer.
They framed me as a crazy addict, and my own father, a sitting Senator, turned a blind eye to protect his political career.
"Her political value is gone, just get rid of her quietly."
That was the last thing I heard my father say before I was brutally slaughtered by my own family.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why they hated me so much.
Why did my father let them force those pills down my throat?
Why was my life worth less than my stepmother's public image?
Opening my eyes again, the freezing sensation of lake water filling my lungs vanished.
I was back in the VIP room of the St. Moritz Sanatorium in 2023.
It was the exact morning before the cleaners walked through my door with uncapped syringes.
This time, I wouldn't just survive. I was going to cut the throat of the Kirk family.