Fantasy

Pangu created the world. AI-Generated.
In those distant and untraceable years, the universe was nothing but a murky, viscous chaos. Darkness is like an impenetrable web, enveloping everything within it, without a glimmer of light or vitality, only endless silence and nothingness. This chaos is like a huge egg, with thick substances blending and entangling with each other, without any boundaries between heaven and earth, without any signs of life, as if the entire world has fallen into eternal slumber.
By empire datangabout a year ago in Fiction
Thorne Stormfoot- The Wrath of Trantor
Thorne Stormfoot- The Wrath of Trantor The people of Baywatch had always lived in peace. Their days were spent basking beneath the golden glow of the sun, their nights lulled by the whispers of the tide. Fishing boats glided across the waters, markets bustled with fresh catches, and laughter echoed through cobbled streets.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
One More Chance Before It All Repeats
Written by Joey Raines I didn’t see any light. But I wasn’t in the dark either. There was no pain. Still, I didn’t feel safe.
By Joey Rainesabout a year ago in Fiction
Scalpel, Stat
The siren rises and falls, at exactly the right pitch to set my hairs on end, and pit my teeth against each other. It feels claustrophobic back here, as if the walls of the ambulance are closing in on me. Beads of sweat break out on my face, and I can feel my breath coming quick and ragged.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
The Day Humanity Died
Story: It didn’t happen suddenly. No explosions, no alien invasions, no nuclear fallout. The end began in whispers. Not of war… but of disinterest. On the morning of October 14th, 2031, the world still looked normal. People sipped their coffees, scrolled mindlessly, and posted photos of their breakfasts while the real apocalypse simmered beneath the surface—quietly, invisibly. In a small town called Elmoor, population 34,000, something strange was reported. Every child under the age of ten had stopped speaking. Not one. Not two. All. Doctors blamed it on a rare psychological contagion. The media called it “Silent Syndrome.” The first warning. Ignored. Two days later, the elderly began disappearing. No trace. No footprints. Not a body found. Just their empty clothes folded neatly on their beds. It made headlines for six hours—until a celebrity scandal pushed it down. The second warning. Dismissed. A week passed. Farmers across continents reported something bizarre: seeds wouldn’t sprout. The Earth had stopped responding. Soil tested fine. No contamination. But no life emerged. Still, the markets ran. The ads rolled. The influencers danced. The third warning. Mocked. Then came the birds. One by one, species vanished. Crows were the last to go. Their cries were deafening the night before they disappeared—as if they were trying to say something we no longer knew how to hear. Still, humanity refused to pause. Because the Wi-Fi still worked. And the sales were still on. And no one wanted to believe the world was unraveling—because that would mean they’d have to do something. In a flat on the 12th floor of a grey building, lived a man named Idris. A 38-year-old freelance web designer with no attachments. He was what the world called “neutral.” He didn’t hate. Didn’t love. Just existed. He kept his head down, did his work, and avoided anything that asked for emotion or action. When his neighbor, an old woman named Miss Clara, knocked on his door crying that her granddaughter had stopped breathing—not died, just stopped breathing—he turned up his music and waited for her to leave. That night, Idris had a dream. He stood in a city square, alone. The buildings were crumbling. The sky flickered like an old television. And voices whispered, “Where were you?” He woke up sweating. But by morning, he had forgotten. The next global trend was The Fade. People began losing their reflections. First, it was considered an online hoax. Then it happened to news anchors—live. Scientists couldn’t explain it. People without reflections still walked, talked, functioned—but seemed emptier. Hollow. A massive protest broke out in London. Thousands gathered, demanding answers. Demanding truth. By the evening, every protester vanished. Just like the elderly. Governments fell silent. There were no more press conferences. Only static on state channels. And then... the final silence arrived. People began looking at each other like strangers. Not with anger. Not even fear. Just apathy. A mother stared at her crying child and did nothing. A man walked past a collapsed stranger without blinking. A teacher watched her students vanish one by one—and kept writing on the board. Idris noticed it too. The absence of soul. People were still alive. Still breathing. But whatever made them human was… gone. He tried to scream at them. Shake them. He wept in public, hoping someone—anyone—would show some reaction. Nothing. In desperation, he ran to the old bookstore where he once saw Miss Clara buying poetry. She was there, sitting silently, staring at a blank page. “Do you remember?” he asked her. She turned, slowly. Her eyes were dim, her voice like paper. “Remember what?” He didn’t know how to answer. He returned home and turned on his screen. Every channel was blank, except one. A black screen with white letters that read: > “This is not the end of the world. This is the end of its heart.” Beneath that was a date: October 28th. Three days from now. Idris sat in his chair. Thought about everything he didn’t do. The causes he ignored. The people he ghosted. The suffering he scrolled past. All the times he could’ve spoken up—but stayed silent. And in that moment, he realized the horrifying truth: The world didn’t die because of violence. It died because of neglect. Because no one cared enough to save it. Because everyone thought someone else would. October 28th came. At exactly 7:00 PM, the skies turned white. Not bright—white. A hollow silence covered the Earth. Cities stopped. Hearts stopped. But not Idris. He stood on the same square from his dream. He looked up and screamed—not in fear, but in apology. And for a second, the sky pulsed. Just once. A flicker of mercy. Or maybe memory. No one knows if the world ended that day or just rebooted into something else. But one thing’s certain. It wasn’t a meteor. It wasn’t fire. It wasn’t war. It was indifference. That was the day humanity died.
By TrueVocalabout a year ago in Fiction
The Holiday
‘Well isn’t this lovely’ I spat, ‘next time you are planning a lads holiday, leave me out of it.’ I was currently up the creek without a paddle, not that it was my friend Simon’s fault but human nature demanded that someone take the blame.
By Alan Walkerabout a year ago in Fiction
She Called Me ‘Mom’—But I Was Just the Nurse
It was 2 a.m. in the ER when she held my hand and said something that broke me. --- I’ve worked night shifts in the ER for over seven years. I’ve seen people come and go—some make it, some don’t. It’s not that I’m numb to it. You just learn how to build a wall between your heart and your hands. You show up, do the work, and keep going.
By Izazkhanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Carmer And The Lost Soul
Spending time, relaxing, enjoying Cardiff by the sea, despite out of the money realities, Lennilu showed great strength receiving the message Queen Mary had in her bloody stake cannister.
By Marc OBrienabout a year ago in Fiction
THE FORBIDDEN LOVE PART 1. AI-Generated.
Title: The Forbidden Love – Part 1 Genre: Mafia Romance | Dark & Intense | Forbidden Love Setting: Seoul, South Korea — Rain-slicked streets & hidden betrayals
By Lav enderabout a year ago in Fiction
The City That Dreamed Itself . AI-Generated.
In the heart of a desert where no map dared to extend its lines, there once appeared a city — not built, not planned, but dreamed. Travelers swore it had not existed the day before. Sand dunes that once rolled endlessly now bristled with towers made of mirrored stone, reflecting not just the sky above, but the desires buried deep within whoever gazed at them.
By Atifa Iqbalzadaabout a year ago in Fiction
Yes, I became a god just by exercising.
The snow intensified, and the weather was bitterly cold. Shapha pulled his slightly grimy wool overcoat tighter as he headed toward the church not far ahead.
By zhimin wangabout a year ago in Fiction
Find me in the gold.. Runner-Up in You Were Never Really Here Challenge.
She can still see me. It’s rare, but on occasion, she can still see me. When she does, it comes in glimmers of light and shadows, the way water reflects off the bottom of a pool, but every so often, she can still see me. My friend. My real, living, breathing, atoms and molecules shaped into the body of a real girl, friend. When she does, when she sees me, the electricity courses through my entire being. The joy of being seen literally electrifies me, and sometimes it makes the lights flicker, and I know she shrugs it off as a power surge or something else as equally rational of an explanation. This is what always happens, as they grow up, but I was hoping this time it wouldn’t. She was the girl I loved the most.
By Morgan Oliverabout a year ago in Fiction