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is it,the end

The story

The story

Nov 14, 2025

After watching countless stories unfold before his eyes, Tom finally decided to create one of his own.

That night, he closed his eyes and sank into the Dreamspace once again. The moment his consciousness settled, he summoned his pen and began to write.

"There was once a boy named Brook."

Brook had lost his parents in a tragic accident. Since then, he had lived a lonely, monotonous life — trapped in the endless cycle of a 9-to-5 corporate job. Each day was the same, a dull blur of screens and paperwork.

Until one night.

He fell asleep at his desk and, when he opened his eyes, everything had changed.

The air was warm. The scent of roses drifted through a golden room. He sat up and found himself lying on a luxury bed, surrounded by silk curtains and chandeliers dripping with jewels. The walls gleamed with gold patterns — like something straight out of a fantasy novel.

Brook blinked in disbelief.Am I dreaming? Or did I… transmigrate?

He stumbled to the mirror — and froze.

Staring back at him wasn't his tired face, but that of a handsome blond man with sharp blue eyes and a perfectly sculpted physique. Every muscle was defined, every feature flawless. It was, without question, his ideal body.

Before he could process it, a soft knock echoed from the door.

"Master Hanibal, are you awake?"

Brook stiffened. His mind raced. Hanibal?

"Yes," he replied quickly, forcing calm into his voice.

A maid entered, bowing slightly. Brook tried to appear composed as he adjusted his clothes. "Where is the family head's room?" he asked.

The maid looked up, startled. "Master, the family head's… room?"

For a moment, Brook's heart skipped a beat. Then he smiled confidently and said, "Ah, I was merely testing if you remembered. Seems like you do."

The maid exhaled in relief. "Of course, Master. It's at the end of the hall — the door with the roaring lion symbol."

"Good," Brook said smoothly. "You may go now."

Once she left, he closed the door behind him and let out a long breath.That was close… If anyone noticed something off, I'd be done for.

He sat by the desk, his mind spinning.How did I end up here? There are only two possibilities — either I died and possessed this man's body… or I was sucked into a game. But I've never played anything like this, nor read a story of this world. Which means…

He clenched his fists. I must've died from overwork.

But then, how did the real Hanibal die? I have to find out before someone tries to kill me again.

Suddenly, a sharp pain tore through his skull.

"Argh!"

He gritted his teeth as thousands of memories flooded into his mind — flashes of battles, faces, swords, blood, and crowns.

When the pain finally subsided, Brook collapsed into the chair, gasping.

Then he understood.

Hanibal was the Head of the Leo Family — the most prestigious swordsmanship family in the entire Archon Empire. Known as the Greatest Swordsman of the Age, Hanibal's power was unmatched.

He was also married to the Princess of the Empire — not for politics, but out of genuine love.

But great power always bred enemies.

The Leo Family's greatest rival was the Warlock Family — a clan of pure mages who saw swordsmen as primitive fools. The Warlocks and Leos had been locked in a cold feud for years, restrained only by the king's presence.

The rivalry had turned bitter after Hanibal single-handedly defeated their leader, Mathew Warlock, in front of the entire imperial court. Since then, the Warlocks had vanished from public life, their pride shattered — but their hatred only grew deeper.

Brook's eyes darkened.If that's the case… maybe the Warlock Family tried to assassinate Hanibal to take revenge.

He chuckled bitterly.Typical. When you can't defeat someone face-to-face, you poison them from the shadows — like cowards.

progittetrash
Drasticale

Creator

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is it,the end
is it,the end

279 views2 subscribers

"In a multiverse controlled by a mysterious entity, authors are enslaved—forced to write stories that feed an insatiable power. When a group of rebel authors called the Razors refuse to sacrifice their characters, they do the unthinkable: bring a character to life and arm him with the Pen, a weapon that can rewrite reality itself."
But the Pen's power comes with a cost. To bend reality, he must write and absorb his own stories. To grow stronger, he must understand himself completely. And as he builds toward the ultimate confrontation, he begins to question: What happens when a creation confronts its creator?
In a world where everything is written, can anything be truly free? When the line between author and character blurs, who really holds the power?
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The story

The story

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