Second World Novel - Chapter 51 - 51. Fox’s Demise

“You are mine, and I am yours…”

The world cannot be saved by the victory of a single man. This book begins at the point where the climax should occur; the battle between a Demon Queen who is a little strange and a Hero who is a little curious.

However, not only do these two give up the battle, instead, they join hands to directly challenge the complicated social structure which dictates that humans and demons must forever be in conflict.

This is too reckless right? How can this be done? Undoubtedly, you are thinking that.

Come, please turn the page. You are about to read a story that has never been told before; the story of the Hero… and the Demon Queen.

She is not a weak nor submissive type of woman. She is Dominant! A female alpha, the rarest of her kind, who could match up the strength of the most powerful creature, the Vampire King.

As the war between the two races continues, the Alpha Princess falls for the Vampire King. Their fated bond will be tested by their past and origins. Will the two be able to break the loop of revenge and hatred between their clans?

Bound by blood and revenge, can love set them free?

*****

Excerpt:

“You. Are. Not. Going. Anywhere!” His scarlet eyes settled on her face, blazing in a raging fury.

“No way! You just want me for your revenge,” she responded mockingly while meeting his intense gaze. “Just leave me alone!”

In a flash, he closed their gaps, pushing her down on the bed while trapping her in his arms. “I can't... because my kind of revenge means... Trapping you here…” he brought her hand into his chest, pointing to his heart.

“and by enslaving you here… in my bed,” his mouth moved over hers in a sensuous exploration, traveling down her throat to her neck. His hand was already caressing her soft flesh.

“I will get what I want by making you mine!” Before she could complain, a ripping sound was heard as he tore her clothes apart.

A Professional Transmigrator meets a newbie Regressor.

❄️❄️❄️

He lived an average, fulfilling life and died of old age. The next moment, he opened his eyes as the Princess of Asmaria.

While looking forward to his new life, he died again.

And so began his 151,897,914th life as Samur Eckart.

Samur is a Professional Transmigrator- or so he says so, as he gets transmigrated into a new world every time he dies.

However, each time, his memories return only moments before his death. If he successfully survives, he gets to live that life, if he dies, well, he just moves on to his next moment of death.

Once again on the verge of death as Samur, he’s saved at the last moment by a young boy.

Surprise, surprise, the young boy is a Regressor.

As a man of honour, Samur intends to repay his debt then leave because the world is too inconvenient to live in.

Well, that’s what he thought, at least, but the Regressor and his friends are kind of… weird, and he can’t seem to get away at all?

However, not everything is as it seems. Samur’s whims have made him the part of an eternal lie.

Shadows dance in glee as they concoct a requiem far grander than anyone can imagine, while the Lights tremble in delight as the apocalypse threatens the Universe.

The dies have been cast, the play has been written, the characters are on the stage, and the sacrifices have been made.

And so, it’s finally time to let this game begin.

She was born into a powerful family of the nobility, a blue-blooded aristocrat as capable as any man. He rose from humble origins up the military ranks, an iron-blooded knight with high ambitions. A transaction for power severed her from her childhood sweetheart. A tardy encounter was the beginning of his and her vow to meet life and death under heaven, standing shoulder to shoulder.

Political intrigue, dynastic succession struggles. He trampled through it all in the toil of becoming emperor.

Old enmities became new disputes, concerning life and death of entire families. She entered once more into the palace, changing the entire political climate of their world.

Meeting once again, they had become strangers. The peach blossom were all fallen, no more than a golden age grown cold.

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