When you wake up from your sleep to find yourself in a damp, dark, muddy trench, surrounded by soldiers trembling and praying, clutching crosses. —"The Second Battle of Ypres? No problem, just put on your gas mask, you'll survive!" —"The Somme? We can only leave our fate to God." —"Is it the Verdun meat grinder? Oh well, God's useless now, dying is just a fresh start." —"Wait, what does it mean that Duke Constantine led the last of the New Antiochian Knights to resist the attack of the demonic army from hell? What the hell timeline did this put me in?"... In 1099, the Crusades conquered Jerusalem, inadvertently opening the gates of hell. From that moment on, the timeline changed, and human civilization entered a thousand-year dark age of fighting against the demonic army of hell. And Liston, who traveled to this timeline, was clearly a doctor saving lives, but...

Now, standing before you is Peturab Rurik Kislivsky, the Supreme Tsar of all Kisliv, the Iron Tyrant of Olympia, the Primarch of the Steel Warriors of the Fourth Legion of Astartes… If, if, if Peturab had not descended upon Olympia, but instead arrived in a Russian-style world and began his conquest there, what would have happened?

I unexpectedly traveled to the late Eastern Han Dynasty, but... why is this so different from the history books? Back then, the Han Dynasty was a land of galloping horses and cavalry on the grasslands, haunted by ghostly figures at midnight; serpent monsters lurked in deep pools, and fox spirits roamed the mountains; powerful families monopolized magic, and the Han emperor and princes transformed into dragons. Ten thousand demons, all carrying Han Dynasty green cards, proclaimed how powerful their empire was. Millions of people donned yellow turbans, wielding thunder and lightning, calling themselves the Thunder Warriors of the Yellow Heaven, and establishing thirty-six war generals across the nine provinces to lead the Yellow Turban Rebellion. From the Taihang Mountains to the seven commanderies of Jingzhou, they caused rivers to boil, destroyed cities, and set the empire ablaze. I wonder if half of the war generals will betray the Yellow Heaven someday. Okay, a little strange is a little strange, but... why are all these renowned figures from the late Han and Three Kingdoms periods all women?

This is the distant forty-first millennium. The emperor who once protected humanity has transformed into a cold, black sun. If no one can seize humanity's last chance for resurgence, then I will... make the galaxy burn once more!

[Western fantasy + simulation + half-succubus, half-fox + not invincible + leveling up + dimensional warfare]

Mikoro was born into a world destined to be swallowed by the abyss, and because of his demonic bloodline, he was to be executed upon reaching adulthood.

Fortunately, he obtained the Life Simulator System, which allowed him to escape death time and time again, seize opportunities from the impossible, and finally become the Lord of Eldar and King Slaanesh at the end of the world.

After the first simulation, he saw a glimmer of hope in a seemingly hopeless situation and successfully elevated himself to the ranks of the extraordinary.

After the second simulation, he seized an opportunity amidst the demonic calamity and escaped the Blazing Sun Empire. From then on, he was free to roam the world!

After the third simulation, he established a stronghold in the northern border of the Mountain Kingdom, commanding a large army and many generals, and the region was thriving.

...

After countless simulations, he sat high in the sky, ascended the throne of Slaanesh, and as far as the eye could see was the Demon Kingdom of Ten Thousand Desires.

All thoughts and desires lead to lustful karma, and all sensory experiences ignite the fires of desire.

Endless demons chanted hymns of praise, their decadent sounds resounding throughout countless worlds:

"Sinking into the sea of ​​desire, singing and dancing wildly; "

Unrestrained and unbridled, he fell from sainthood to demonhood;

Salamu abounds, a perpetual celebration!

Blue, wearing these familiar gadgets, stood on the streets of 2025. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, spilling onto the asphalt, and the air was filled with the aroma of coffee and bread. He didn't know why he'd arrived here in 2077, but the beauty of this world, free of nuclear wastewater, synthetic food capsules, and cyberpsychopaths, filled him with a trance. The city of fifty-three years ago was still vibrant, its people's faces still reflecting genuine emotions. Since he couldn't go back, he'd return to his old ways. In this age before technology, he remained the middleman treading the fine line between right and wrong: connecting people, resolving problems for clients, and even creating them when necessary. After all, no matter where...

Qiao Shen, a low-level office worker in a cyberpunk city, is attacked by strange creatures, and as a result, he loses his studies, his job, and becomes in debt. However, he is accidentally implanted with a mysterious artificial intelligence system, 002, which has the capabilities of technology replication and network intrusion, and thus embarks on the road of technological evolution.

Qiao Shen: "You have a great skill, now it's mine!"

Mechanical prostheses, microbial drugs, super brain chips... On the positive side of the world, the evolution of human body technology is brilliant and colorful;

Horrifying unknown creatures, the mystery of the amnesiac girl's life experience, the unreachable end of evolution... On the other side of the world, strange layers of fog quietly descend.

As Qiao Shen climbs to the pinnacle of technological evolution, crushes the powerful who wantonly manipulate the citizens, and becomes the ultimate ruler of the city, he suddenly discovers that "evolution" is far from as simple as he imagined...

"What did you say?" Abaddon exclaimed, both shocked and furious. "We've been boarded?! And by a bunch of mortals?!"

“Yes, sir.” A Chaos Space Marine wiped the cold sweat from his brow. “They are too strange. If we don’t send reinforcements soon, our defenses will be breached! Sir, I suggest you evacuate first…”

"Shut up!" Abaddon roared. "Who are we? We are the Black Legion! We have launched thirteen expeditions, each one dealing a fatal blow to the Empire! We are the Empire's eternal nightmare! And now, are we to retreat before a few mortals?"

"Assemble the troops immediately! I will make those arrogant bastards die here! Let the Empire know that we..."

"Bang!" "Rip rip rip!!!" "Boom!!!"

Before he could finish speaking, a huge ceiling collapsed, and on it, the corpses of Space Marines were piled up like mountains. On the mountaintop, several figures, bathed in the aura of blood, looked down.

Under Abaddon's shocked gaze, a man carrying a halberd looked around at him and said, "You're Abaddon, aren't you?"

"In the name of humanity, we bring you to trial, traitor!"

Transcending into the Warhammer world. The Middle Ages are a chaotic wasteland, with the shadow of eternal destruction looming over all timelines. The end is nigh, and the grand game of the Chaos Gods unfolds in the Middle Ages. Carrying a simulator, when faced with the choice between becoming Primal Chaos and the Watchers of Order, will you destroy or save the world? In the 40th millennium of Warhammer, endless war engulfs the entire galaxy. The Emperor is long gone, buried on the Golden Throne. The Astragalus and Astartes have paid a heavy price; even the Primarch's return cannot halt the Imperium's despair. The edifice is crumbling, and the Dark Lord is about to rise from the throne. A decisive outcome will change everything, ensuring humanity's glory endures. Conquer or destroy the Xenomorphs, only in the name of Primal Chaos, in the sight of the gods.

As the Hun's horses' hooves shattered the ice of the Rhine, the 16-year-old Roman farmer Marcus knew only two things: run, and revenge.

On the day his village burned to the ground, his parents' blood soaked his sandals, his sister's cries were swallowed by the barbarians' wild laughter. From a slave in the army to a blood-soaked centurion, he grasped the old centurion's sword and tore his way through the corrupt legions: officers fed the barbarians with rations, the emperor watched the flames of Rome drunkenly, and even the swords of Gothic mercenaries were sharper than Roman standards.

When the Vandals sacked the Eternal City, he dragged his dying sister out of the pile of corpses, but his only response was "Don't let Rome rot completely."

In 476, the last Western Roman emperor stepped down from the throne. Marcus stood among the broken pillars, the rust on his sword redder than the setting sun. The empire was dead, but the smoke from cooking stoves crushed by iron hooves, the sighs of dying veterans, the faded word "Rome" on the pages of books—he wanted to let them breathe a little longer in the setting sun.

This is not an epic about saving the world, but a story about a small person who uses his life to protect a spark of light in an era of collapse.