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#R18
#COMEDY
#HAREM
#SURVIVAL
#ANTIHERO
#KINGDOMBUILDING
#VIDEOGAME
#YURI
#NPC
#YANDERE

Mythos Of Narcissus: Reborn As An NPC In A Horror VRMMO

Lothair is a serial killer who detest imperfection on human’s facial features, which resulted in him having a compulsory behavior of wanting to strip people’s faces. After he dies, he finds himself as Narcissus, a beautiful and adorable female NPC inside a state-of-the-art VRMMO world of the latest craze called Fallen Carcosa Online. But despite being a fantasy-filled game, the world feels strangely realistic. Too realistic, even. Game-like systems and magic exist but so do plagues, politics, economy, and the horror hidden in plain sight. When pried open, an actual human-like anatomy can be seen beyond the skin of the NPC’s face—with little to no censor. Everything feels too immersive. Except Narcissus, Lothair’s new identity. When Narcissus tried to scrape off the face of her new adorable body, she found an abyssal void with little to no end. This story marks the birth for the King in Yellow. - Warning, this story contain: Male-to-Female Genderbend, GL/Yuri, Occasional Futa MC, Yanderes, Harem, Self-Cest. - Follow the creative and attentive Narcissus, a nuanced former serial-killer who will gradually becomes stronger, experienced, maddening, horrifying, but also mature, wise, conflicted, and complex—in this near-endless journey. Where souls unsung and tears unshed. In the land of Lost Carcosa.

Shin_Ou · Horror
Not enough ratings
298 Chs
#R18
#COMEDY
#HAREM
#SURVIVAL
#ANTIHERO
#KINGDOMBUILDING
#VIDEOGAME
#YURI
#NPC
#YANDERE
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Viviane's Viewpoint: This Drowning Ennui

"Wake up, Viviane," I hummed to myself. "You can't laze around forever, even if there is nothing to do."

The truth of the matter was obvious, being a divine adjudicator in a world rife with sin and ignorance was dull work.

"How many days has it been since the last visitor…?"

Mortals were predictable—until the last 'Recalibration', where I met no mortal at all in my never-changing post. 

Heh, that was quite the depressing reality to remember.

Back then, the mortals would always seek judgment and absolution like moths to a flame, their desires as shallow as the waters at my lake's edge. They brought offerings, stories, excuses—all of them hoping for approval, for validation, for some sense of meaning bestowed by my so-called 'blessing'.

As if blessing was anything more than an accident of existence.