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The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

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Isabella was supposed to be sipping champagne at a luxury spa, not waking up in the middle of a forest. Worse, a SYSTEM had attached itself to her like some clingy ex, spouting nonsense about survival, quests, and—oh, hell no—manual labor. "System, I was NOT built for the wilderness! My ideal ‘roughing it’ experience involves a five-star hotel with bad WiFi!" Now, instead of lounging in silk robes, she’s being ordered to farm? To hunt? "A farming quest? You want me—a city girl—to grow food? System, I once killed a cactus by overwatering it. This is NOT my calling!" And don’t even get her started on the hygiene situation. "You want me to bathe in a cold river? Darling, I require warm water, scented oils, and an ambience! What do I look like—some barbarian?!" Unfortunately, the locals—big, muscular beastmen—don’t seem to understand the concept of self-care. The women? Neglecting their skin like it’s a crime to be radiant. The men? Walking hygiene disasters. "Ladies, if your man can smell you before he sees you, we have a problem." "You see this? This is lotion. It exists so you don’t look like a dried-up leaf. Use it." "A beard should be majestic, not tragic. Let me fix it." And the beastmen? They don’t just stare at her like she’s an oddity. No, they hover. They smirk. They lean in too close, fangs flashing with amusement. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?" she huffed, crossing her arms. The panther grinned, his tail flicking. "Because you’re fascinating when you’re annoyed." No, absolutely not. She was not here for this nonsense. "If you have time to stare, you have time to moisturize." She didn’t ask to be here. She didn’t ask to be their savior. But if she has to suffer through this world, she’s making everyone around her suffer less—through skincare, style, and some serious attitude. "If I hear one more ‘We don’t season our food here,’ I’m launching a war." "If you have time to gossip, you have time to do squats." "You want to impress a woman? Start with not smelling like the battlefield." Survival isn’t just about fighting monsters; it’s about looking good while doing it. So what if the System keeps throwing impossible quests her way? "What do you mean ‘you can’t skip quests’?! Since when?! Where is the skip button?! I demand a skip button!" But somewhere between dodging ridiculous quests and fixing these people’s tragic grooming habits, Isabella found herself in situations. Uncomfortable, heart-racing situations. Like being trapped against a tree by the red python, his red eyes half-lidded as he murmured, "You talk too much, little star. Should I silence you?" Like waking up with the lion lord’s fur-lined cloak draped over her shoulders, his deep voice gruff, "You shiver in your sleep. I’ll fix that." Like the phoenix watching her every move, his burning gaze searing into her skin as he mused, "You cause chaos wherever you go, but I find that I don’t mind." Oh, hell. No. She was not about to fall for four beastmen. She was too pretty for this much stress. "If you insult me again, I’ll make sure your soul needs a beauty upgrade." "I refuse to be disrespected by anyone who dresses like an unwashed tree branch." And yet, when a rival tribe came to challenge her, when danger lurked too close, those same beastmen stood beside her—smirking, taunting, fighting for her. "A beastman growled at me today. I growled back. He ran. I am the alpha now." Isabella isn’t just surviving. She’s thriving. And this world better keep up.
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Forged in Chaos: A Transmigrator’s Tale in the DC Universe

Waking up in an alleyway in Gotham City was not how Ethan Reyes expected his day to start. The last thing he remembered was crashing on his couch after a long gaming session, only to find himself in a world he recognized all too well—one filled with gods, monsters, and vigilantes dressed as bats. It took him a moment to realize the city wasn’t just a detailed dream. The distant sirens, the oppressive skyline, and the neon flicker of a nearby ACE Chemicals sign confirmed it. This was Gotham. And that was bad. Then came the pain. It burned through his veins like molten fire before settling into his fingertips. A strange, instinctual urge filled his mind. His gaze landed on the dumpster beside him. Scattered around were a broken switchblade and a rusty pipe. Before he could think, his hands moved on their own, touching both objects. A pulse of energy surged through him, and suddenly, the two items fused—the broken switchblade now embedded itself within the pipe like a makeshift spear. "Holy—What the hell was that?" Experimenting further, he picked up a discarded smartphone and a pair of cheap sunglasses. Another pulse of power, and—bam—a pair of futuristic-looking AR glasses now rested in his hands, displaying HUD information in his vision. That was when it clicked. He had a power—an ability that allowed him to fuse objects together. The results? Unpredictable. Some combinations worked beautifully, while others... not so much. And in a world where Batman, Superman, and the Joker roamed, a power like this was both a blessing and a curse. Survival in Gotham Ethan quickly learned that Gotham was not kind to the weak. Without money or connections, he had to rely on his ability to survive. His first breakthrough came when he fused a lockpick set with a stolen smartwatch—creating a device that could crack digital locks. He used it to raid an abandoned weapons stash, arming himself with gear of his own making. He also experimented with weapons. A standard pistol fused with a flashlight? Now it fired tracer rounds that illuminated targets. A crowbar fused with an electric baton? A shock club capable of stunning enemies. But Gotham was filled with predators. And soon, they noticed him. The Underworld Calls Word spread fast about a "mystic craftsman" who could create bizarre but powerful items. The underworld took interest. First came the low-level thugs, hoping to use him for their own gain. Then came the bigger players. The Penguin wanted to recruit him. Black Mask wanted to own him. And the Joker? He just wanted to see what happened if Ethan fused a grenade with a rubber chicken. It was Batman who intervened first. The Dark Knight, ever the strategist, saw the potential of Ethan’s abilities. But he also saw the danger. In the right hands, Ethan could change the landscape of warfare. In the wrong hands? He could unleash nightmares. The question was—whose hands would he end up in? Survive or Be Consumed As the months passed, Ethan found himself walking a razor’s edge. If he wanted to thrive, he had to be smart. He had to stay ahead of both heroes and villains, mastering his power before someone forced him into a corner. Because in Gotham, there were only two kinds of people: Those who adapted. And those who became stories whispered in the dark.
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