Um Nobre Guerreiro - Francisco Pereira - Wattpad

Um Nobre Guerreiro

FranciscoPereira358

Reads 53
Votes 3
Parts 2
Time 10m

Reads 53
Votes 3
Parts 2
Time 10m

FranciscoPereira358

ação evolução forte inteligente lutas reencarnação

O peso de várias mortes paira sobre seus ombros 
Ele queria mudar 
Ele queria fazer diferente. 
No entanto, é enviado para um mundo desconhecido 
Os fortes devoram os fracos 
Os ricos humilham os pobres 
Uma vida humana não vale mais do que um punhado de ouro 
Para limpar este mundo ... 
Ele se tornará um nobre guerreiroAll Rights Reserved

ação evolução forte inteligente lutas reencarnação

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The Crimson Requiem: Liturgy of the Damned by RimuruLord785

The world does not know pain. Not yet. The stars hang too peacefully in the sky, the air is too clean, and the people-they breathe too easily. They laugh, they love, they dream. They do not know what true suffering is. Max Morbarius will teach them. He was once a man. Once fragile, once weak, once breakable. But pain reshaped him. They tore him apart. They drowned him in agony. They thought death would claim him. They were wrong. Something ancient whispered to him from the abyss. Something hungry. Something that found his agony... beautiful. It did not offer salvation. It did not grant peace. It tore his soul from his corpse and stitched it into something monstrous. Now, he does not kill for justice. He does not kill for revenge. He kills because it makes the world scream. He moves like a shadow through the night, his presence an infection, a creeping plague of fear. He does not just slaughter his enemies-he peels them apart, nerve by nerve, bone by bone. He drinks their suffering, paints the walls with their entrails, carves their sins into their skulls. Their agony is his masterpiece. Their blood is his baptism. But he is not the worst thing that crawls from the dark. There are others. Things lurking beyond human understanding. Eldritch horrors with endless mouths, gods that demand rivers of suffering, nightmares that fester and grow in the rot of his carnage. And they whisper to him. They watch him carve, rip, and mutilate. They want more. They are waiting for him to unleash his true form, to let go of what little remains of his soul, to become the thing they always knew he could be. The Red King of Ruin. The Harbinger of the Fleshstorm. The Father of Agony. And when he finally lets the madness consume him... The world will not be reduced to ashes. It will drown in an ocean of screaming, writhing, bleeding flesh. Because death is not the end. It is only the beginning.

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The Crimson Requiem: Liturgy of the Damned

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