
Traveling to ancient tribes to build infrastructure
I woke up with a splitting headache, only to realize I had transmigrated into the body of a fragile rodent-variant female in a brutal, mutated wasteland.
Before I could even process my new reality, I was shoved into a mandatory pairing auction. The guards gave me exactly ten seconds to find a partner, or I would be sent to the deadly border patrol squads as cannon fodder. Three massive, heavily scarred mutants with greedy eyes immediately locked onto me, ready to claim me as their plaything.
Desperate for a legal shield, I scrambled away from the brutes and made a shocking choice. I walked straight up to the one person everyone else was avoiding like the plague—a sickly, pale man coughing up dark red blood in the corner.
"Partner up. I need a shield, you need a caretaker."
When the guard registered our names, the entire square erupted in open mockery. The chieftain even warned me that my new partner was poisoned, a dead man walking who couldn't hunt or protect me. In their eyes, a weakling and a dying man were nothing but a joke, doomed to freeze or starve.
But the jeering crowd didn't know two things. First, I possessed a wealth of old-world survival knowledge. Second, the fragile man sleeping on my stone bed wasn't just a dying invalid. Why would an elite silver wolf warrior with terrifying, suppressed power hide among the lowest of the low?
I didn't care about his secrets. Looking at the barren dirt behind our rundown shelter, I handed him a stone hoe. While the rest of the camp waited for us to die, we were going to build an impenetrable underground fortress.
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Chapter 2
Ariel grabbed the edge of the warped wooden door. She shoved it hard. A loud, grating creak echoed through the empty room, the rusted hinges protesting every inch of movement.
A wave of stale air hit her face. It was a thick, suffocating mix of mold, damp rot, and years of settled dust.
Ariel choked. She stumbled back, pressing her sleeve over her nose and mouth as a violent coughing fit seized her chest.
Elvin stepped forward. He moved in front of her, his tall frame blocking the worst of the dusty draft. He waved his hand in the air, clearing a path through the floating particles.
They stepped inside. The dim light filtering through the cracks in the walls revealed a disaster. Scattered stones, piles of dried weeds, and dirt covered the floor. And there, in the center of the ceiling, a massive hole gaped open. The freezing wind whistled through it, a constant, biting stream.
Ariel sighed internally. She forced down the panic, the despair. She was a survivor. She had survived worse in her past life. She could survive this.
She turned to Elvin. He was leaning against the doorframe, his chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths. She pointed to the corner where a flat slab of stone served as a bed.
"Sit," she said. Her tone was gentle, but it left no room for argument. "Rest."
Elvin blinked. Something flickered in his eyes-surprise, maybe. He wasn't used to being ordered to rest, especially not with that kind of quiet concern.
He obeyed. He walked over to the stone bed and sat down, his movements slow and deliberate. He settled back, his gaze fixed on Ariel, watching her every move.
Ariel rolled up her sleeves. Her arms were slender, marked with a network of old scratches and fresh bruises. She found a half-bald broom in the corner and began to sweep. The bristles scraped against the stone floor, pushing the debris into a pile.
A massive rock sat right in the middle of the room. Ariel pushed it with the broom. It didn't budge. She dropped the broom and pressed her hands against the cold surface, pushing with all her weight.
Nothing.
She gritted her teeth. She dug her fingers into the rough edges, her face turning red from the strain, and pushed again. Her arms trembled.
Elvin watched her stubborn, awkward struggle. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee. Once. Twice.
He stood up. He walked over until he stood right behind her.
"Let me try," he said softly.
Ariel looked up, worry creasing her brow. She opened her mouth to stop him, but he was already bending down.
Deep inside, Elvin tapped into a sliver of his suppressed power. A tiny thread of silver wolf energy surged through his veins. He gripped the rock.
He pretended to strain. He grunted, his face twisting into a mask of effort. The hundred-pound rock scraped across the floor and thudded against the wall.
The moment it was done, he threw out a hand to brace himself against the wall. He let out a series of harsh, ragged gasps, his shoulders heaving.
Ariel dropped the broom. She rushed over, grabbing his arm. His skin was ice cold under her fingers.
Her heart clenched. She guided him back to the stone bed, making him sit down. In her mind, she reevaluated him. He was stronger than he looked, possessing a surprising burst of power, but that single act had completely drained him. His body was incredibly fragile. Handle with Care.
She rummaged through the broken wooden cabinet in the corner. Nothing. Just dust and splinters. Finally, in the very back, she found a shriveled, mutated potato root.
She took it outside. Using a chipped stone knife, she painstakingly scraped away the blackened, moldy skin. It took her ten minutes just to get it clean enough to eat.
Back inside, she snapped the root in half. The larger piece, maybe a third bigger, she handed to Elvin.
Elvin stared at the tough, fibrous root in his hand. A complex emotion flickered in the depths of his eyes.
Ariel chewed her small piece. It tasted like dirt and cardboard. It was dry and hard to swallow. But she forced it down, her eyes fixed on the river outside the door.
Her mind was already working. Calculating the water flow. The depth. The terrain. Remembering the fishing techniques from the old world.
She swallowed the last bitter bite. She turned to Elvin, her eyes bright with a fierce determination.
"Tomorrow," she announced, "we eat meat."
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8.2
For three years, nineteen-year-old Ella Campbell rotted in a freezing psychiatric isolation room.
Her billionaire family didn't visit her once, only pulling her out today to force her to publicly apologize to Ashlyn, the perfect sister who had framed her.
At Ashlyn's glamorous engagement gala, Ella was treated worse than a stray dog and forced to watch her childhood sweetheart propose to her sister.
When Ella showed no jealousy, her brother Ivan dragged her onto a dark balcony and nearly choked her to death.
Her mother didn't even check if Ella was breathing, merely ordering a makeup artist to paint thick concealer over the dark purple handprints on Ella's neck so the family's stock price wouldn't drop.
Standing under the blinding stage lights in a shapeless gray dress, facing three hundred mocking Wall Street executives, Ella was supposed to be the broken, obedient psycho the Campbells needed.
"I am deeply sorry for the pain I caused."
She was supposed to end the apology there and bow to her abusers, but Ella didn't shed a single tear.
"My only regret is that I didn't insist on waiting for the police to arrive that night. I deeply regret that I didn't demand a full, legal toxicology report to prove to everyone exactly what happened."
As the ballroom erupted into suspicious whispers and her paralyzed twin brother finally saw the violent bruises hidden beneath her makeup, Ella's counterattack against the Campbell family officially began.

8.3
EDEN
8.3
Elianila, an AI Architect, is part of an elite team tasked with designing a global system meant to prevent threats, manage disasters, and distribute resources to vulnerable regions. After five years of tireless work with her colleagues, she uncovers disturbing anomalies, code-named, X-variables, that flag individuals according to criteria she never programmed.
As Elianila digs deeper to understand what the X-variables measure and where their origin, she finds herself in direct conflict with the authorities. Soon, the System marks her and her daughter as threats - targets to be eliminated.
With a small band of colleagues and dissidents, Elianila goes on the run, hiding in places beyond the Systems reach. As they evade surveillance, they race against time to warn others, expose the truth, and fight back against the omnipresent authority of the System.

7.8
My abusive ex was threatening a lawsuit that would destroy my father's career and wipe out my PhD. I was completely out of options.
That night, Graham, the boy from next door I hadn't seen in a decade, showed up at my apartment in the middle of a hurricane. Now a wealthy orthopedic surgeon, he offered a transactional marriage: he needed a local wife to keep his family away while he cared for his sick mother, and in return, he would make my ex disappear.
I thought it was a simple deal. But the morning after we signed the marriage license, Graham didn't just scare my ex off—he ruthlessly dismantled him. Then, Graham turned to me. His eyes were dead as he pulled out his phone, showing me a high-resolution photo of the night I illegally sold lab samples to pay off my ex's initial blackmail. He had hired a private investigator to stalk me. If that photo leaked to the FDA, I wouldn't just lose my degree; I'd go to prison.
"I needed a guarantee," he said flatly.
I was shaking with rage and terror. This wasn't a rescue. It was a hostage situation. Why did he hunt me down? Why use my darkest secret to trap me in this twisted marriage?
I couldn't live like this. I demanded an immediate divorce. But at the courthouse, the clerk dropped a bomb on us: state law required a mandatory thirty-day waiting period. Thirty days trapped with a ruthless, manipulative stranger. I had to find a way to break his leverage before the month was up.

7.4
Clara Davis was trained to seduce, deceive, and destroy.
Her mission is simple: infiltrate billionaire Jeffery Rothwell's life, gain his trust, and help seize his empire in exchange for the freedom she has always craved.
But the deeper she slips into his dangerous world, the more the lines between mission and desire begin to blur. Falling for him was never part of the plan and neither was discovering that the man she was sent to manipulate may not be the real Jeffery at all.
Now trapped in a deadly web of obsession, power, and hidden identities. Clara is caught between the organization that owns her, the monster who remade her, and a love that has turned into vengeance. Clara must survive a man who sees everything, controls everything, and may be far more dangerous than the organization that created her.
Because in this game of seduction and revenge, love might be the deadliest trap of all.

9.7
Eighteen months ago, the man I loved shattered my heart, claiming everything between us was a mistake. Now, he's back, a ghost of his former self, a rookie tryout in my pro esports team. And I will make him regret crawling back.
Clifton, captain of a legendary esports team, was secretly battling a severe wrist injury that threatened his career, every match a fight against his own body. He pushed through the pain, ignoring doctors' warnings, desperate to maintain his god-like status.
His world was already on the edge, but nothing prepared him for seeing Justice Terry again in the team basement. Justice, pale and trembling, his eyes wide with naked terror, was now a rookie tryout.
Clifton had spent a year and a half trying to forget that rainy Chicago alley, the raw revulsion in Justice's eyes, the whispered "it wasn't real" that had left him heartbroken. Justice had vanished, and Clifton had erased every trace. Now, the boy who once looked at him like he was the sun was back, flinching at his touch, displaying a deep, primal fear. Amidst sponsor pressure and whispers of being "washed," Clifton saw Justice's return as a chance for vengeance. He publicly humiliated Justice on a live stream, forcing him into a suicide mission, then coldly benched him.
Yet, the satisfaction never came. Instead, a hollow emptiness and a torrent of questions: What had truly happened in the past? Why was Justice here, and what trauma had carved such fear into his bones?
Clifton, unwilling to be fooled again, swore to uncover every secret and every lie. He would force Justice to explain why he had returned, even if it meant tearing down everything they both had left.

8.3
Imogen Montgomery was the perfect billionaire heiress, deeply in love and ready to marry her fiancé, Clark Ellis.
That all ended the night her cousin Kathleen ripped the sapphire pendant from her neck and pushed her into a pool of toxic chemicals to die.
Two years later, Imogen's eyes snapped open. But she didn't wake up in a hospital. She woke up tied to a stained mattress, trapped in the battered body of Briana, a teenage girl from the slums who had just been sold to a local trafficker.
After violently fighting her way out of a cheap motel, she discovered the horrifying truth. Kathleen had taken over the Montgomery Group. She had locked Imogen's grieving parents away in a psychiatric facility as prisoners.
And worst of all, Kathleen was now flaunting her stolen wealth online, preparing to marry Clark.
A wave of pure, white-hot rage boiled in her blood. Kathleen had murdered her, stolen her family, and was playing the perfect grieving cousin. How was she supposed to fight back? She was just a runaway nobody now. If she tried to expose the truth, Kathleen's security would shoot her dead in the street.
She needed a weapon. She needed a shield. She needed the one man Kathleen feared.
Covered in mud and blood, Briana intercepted Clark's car in the freezing rain. She was going to infiltrate his home as his vulgar, unhinged fake mistress, and she would drag Kathleen straight down to hell.