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The Prophet's Ways Of Destruction

"Waking up as a prophet with this goddamn vision of mine is already annoying. And now you are telling me to save this hopeless world? The hell with these fools! I would rather act as a villain than accept this fate of mine!" A repetitive role; as God's "Left eye," Seon Vel'Seol had to experience a relentless cycle in which she was able to foresee the future of others, yet never for herself. With each world's ending seen, her purpose ends in death, followed by rebirth in yet another world—only to repeat the same task. During the death of her 195th existence, Seon swore to cause destruction in her 196th reincarnation. However, fate can be a little bit messy. She wouldn't have thought her 196th life, she was hailed as a prophet destined to save the world instead. ________________________________ Got a contract! Will post 5 chapters until chapter 40 5 Powerstone = 1 new chapter

DONT_TOUCH_ME · Fantasía
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27 Chs

Prophet (2)

After stressing about the situation for over 30 or more minutes. Her eyes adjusted to her new surroundings, and the first thing she noticed was the glass ceiling above her. It was cracked and teetering on the edge of collapse—or so it appeared.

Upon closer inspection, the glass was actually perfectly intact.

'Future vision' she realized with a roll of her eyes. One of her many unwanted "gifts" that flashed images of things to come—often trivial, rarely useful. Apparently, this building would collapse someday.

Pointless.

Leaning back against the altar like a queen on her throne, she crossed her legs and surveyed the run-down chapel. Dust-coated statues of unfamiliar saints lined the walls, and the smell of decay hung heavy in the air.

'Medieval setting again?' She clicked her tongue in irritation.

A group of robed figures stood before her, trembling in their ceremonial outfits. Each one gripped a wooden staff, as if it might shield them from her wrath.

At the very least... these people spoke English. Normally, in each new life, there'd be a frustrating language barrier, but here? They just happened to speak a language she understood in her 195th life. 'Convenient.'

Her gaze shifted to a familiar holographic notification floating in her vision:

__________________________

[System:

Prologue; introduce yourself as the prophet.

Reward: 50 arcana points.]

__________________________

A familiar ping echoed in her vision, like a nagging fly. Seon barely glanced at it, before swiping the notification away, her fingers flicking the air. To anyone watching, it looked like she was waving at nothing.

In her past lives, she'd have seized the opportunity for power, but now? Relying on that system felt like relying on Him—the god who made her this way. Just thinking about it made her skin crawl.

'Introduce myself? Ha. Not worth it.'

Her gaze swept over the group again. They were all standing there, mute and frozen as if they'd lost their tongues after chanting her name too long.

Eventually, her red eyes settled on a young man, shaking so violently that he looked like he might collapse on the spot. His gaze was glued to the floor, as if one glance her way would turn him to stone.

"You." Seon pointed lazily. "Come here. Give me that."

The man stiffened, eyes widening. "T-the staff?"

"No," she replied dryly. "I meant the invisible air you're holding. Yes, the staff—what else?"

He stumbled over, nearly tripping in his haste. His hands shook as he held out the staff, offering it like a lamb to slaughter.

Without a second thought, she seized the staff and gave it an experimental twirl. "Not bad," she muttered, inspecting the woodwork.

After complimenting the wooden staff, she slammed it against the stone altar without any warning.

CRACK!

The staff splintered, shards of wood flying in all directions. The altar shuddered from the impact, and the man—what's his name?—stumbled back in sheer terror, as if it was his bones that shattered.

"IEEEK!" he squealed.

'Tch.' Seon tossed the broken end aside like trash. "This body's weak as hell," she grumbled, stretching her arms as a dull pop echoed in the chapel.

Her gaze drifted back to the young man, who was still trying to shrink into himself. "You there," she said sharply. "What's your name?"

"M-me?" His voice barely wavered above a whisper.

"No, the rat hiding in the corner. Yes, you."

He swallowed nervously, his voice quaking. "Y-Yun…"

She tapped the broken staff against her palm, letting dust spiral around her. Yun flinched, clearly bracing himself as if she'd strike him next.

"Yunnie!" he burst out, bowing so deeply he nearly hit the floor. "M-my name's Yunnie! P-please don't hurt me!"

'What's with this guy? I just wanted to warm up a bit,' Seon thought, genuinely confused at his reaction. 'Maybe he was just the meek type?'

(Conveniently ignoring that she'd just broken another guy's head and knee right after waking up.)

"Alright, calm down," she said, resting the broken staff over her shoulder and showing a smile that was somehow both charming and mildly threatening. "I was just testing my new weapon, that's all. You just need to answer my questions."

"Easy right?" she added.

"Really?" His eyes darted between her and the stick. "No… beating?"

Her smile didn't waver. "Just answer."

"So… no hitting?"

"..."

"..."

She raised the staff slightly, and Yunnie swallowed hard before blurting out, "I-understood-madam!"