Karma : Kill me or Love me

KARMA: Kill Me or Love Me

Chapter 1: The Dwarf in the Heart of the Forest

In a secluded corner of the universe, far from the clamor and chaos of Earth, lies a small town nestled like a jewel among towering mountains—Rifongie. Tucked away in the nation of Tengne, on a distant planet in an alien cosmos, Rifongie is home to nearly three million souls, each carrying their own stories, dreams, and destinies. From above, the town appears as a masterpiece painted by nature itself: sprawling fields bursting with crops that shimmer beneath the twin suns of this world, crystal-clear rivers pulsing like the veins of the earth, and dense forests teeming with life and secrets. No towering skyscrapers pierce the skyline, no noisy vehicles choke the air, and no smog taints the crisp, fragrant breeze. At first glance, you might mistake Rifongie for a quaint earthly village. But you’d be wrong.

Rifongie does not belong to Earth. It exists on a planet unlike any other, even within its own strange universe—a world called Lunira. Lunira is a realm of wonder and peril, inhabited not only by humans but by creatures straight out of myth and fantasy: monsters with razor-sharp fangs, elves whose beauty blinds the beholder, vampires lurking in the shadows, and dragons soaring through the skies like living volcanoes. And then there are dwarves, like me. But we’re not the kind revered by travelers or worshipped by townsfolk. No, we’re the ones hunted—prized as trophies, sold for profit, or killed for sport.

Lunira is a world of magic and power, where spells and superhuman abilities are as commonplace as breathing. A snap of your fingers can summon flames from your palms. A whispered word can turn the wind into a shield. In Rifongie, magic isn’t just a skill—it’s a way of life. The townsfolk wield it for everything, from coaxing crops to grow faster to adorning their homes with glowing enchantments. Beyond the town’s borders, however, magic is a weapon, a tool for survival against the dangers lurking in the forests and the labyrinthine dungeons that dot the land.

Life in Rifongie is peaceful and orderly. Crime is almost unheard of, thanks to the town’s strict laws and the protection of the guilds—bands of adventurers who venture into treacherous territories to collect rare artifacts, slay monsters, or complete quests assigned by guild masters. In Lunira, being an adventurer is the most coveted profession, the dream of every wide-eyed child. Who wouldn’t want to explore perilous dungeons, face dragons, and become a hero destined to defeat the Demon Lord—the most powerful entity worshipped by the monsters of this world?

But that world is not mine. I’m no adventurer, no hero destined to vanquish the Demon Lord. I’m not even human, nor an elf, nor any creature the people of Rifongie might welcome with open arms. My name is Karma, and I’m a dwarf. My world isn’t the vibrant streets of Rifongie but the dark, chaotic, and dangerous forest a few kilometers from the town.

Here I am, hidden within the hollow of a massive tree I call home. This tree, draped in glowing vines and flowers that pulse softly in the night, is my sanctuary—the only safe place for someone like me. Around me, the forest hums with life: the crystalline chirps of birds with wings like stained glass, the thunderous footsteps of giant beasts, and the faint whispers of the wind, as if it carries secrets it dares not speak aloud. This place is no haven. It’s a battlefield where weak creatures like me must hide to survive.

Why am I here? Why am I, a dwarf, living like this? Let me tell you my story, because honestly, I’m getting tired of lingering in this tree, guarding my tiny patch of territory, and dodging hunters who’d love nothing more than to capture me.

Five years ago, I arrived in Lunira. Five years since I lost my life on Earth and found myself in this bizarre world. Back on Earth, I was nobody special—just an ordinary person with no remarkable talents, no powers, and certainly no inkling that one day I’d wake up as a dwarf in a realm brimming with magic. My arrival here wasn’t like the tales you read in fantasy novels, where the protagonist is heralded by prophecy or chosen to be a hero. In my case, it was an accident—or perhaps, a cruel jest of fate.

When I died on Earth, I expected the afterlife to be a quiet void, a place of eternal rest. Instead, I found myself standing before a goddess—or at least, a being who claimed to be one. She was breathtaking, with hair like drifting clouds and eyes that sparkled like twin stars, but her smile carried a hint of mischief. She called herself Lunaria, the deity who governed the planets of her universe. According to her, she was far too busy sending heroes to various worlds to bother with a proper selection process for me. So, she decided to make things “fun.”

She presented me with a colossal roulette wheel, like something out of a cosmic game show. Each segment of the wheel bore a different fate—some promised the life of a mighty mage, others the glory of a dragon rider. I spun the wheel three times, each spin carrying my hopes for a destiny filled with adventure and honor. But each time, I was let down. The first spin landed on “no specific mission.” The second, on “small race.” And the third—the most crushing blow of all—landed on “dwarf.”

I don’t know if Lunaria was toying with me or if I was just cursed with terrible luck, but the outcome was clear: I was sent to Lunira as a dwarf, a creature deemed weak, worthless, and often treated as prey by others. But Lunaria didn’t abandon me entirely. As compensation for her “experiment,” she granted me a special privilege—abilities far beyond those of an ordinary dwarf. While most dwarves in Lunira have limited powers, I possess magic on par with high-level adventurers. My speed is unmatched, and my arrows—though small—can pierce even the toughest dragon scales.

Sounds impressive, right? At first glance, it is. But try to imagine life as a dwarf. I’m tiny, barely the size of a human child. My clothes? A tattered pair of pants, a faded yellow t-shirt that looks like it’s been through a war with insects, and a hat that’s more comical than stylish. My eyes are a plain black, unlike the jewel-like, glowing eyes of other dwarves. Even among my kind, I’m an oddity—the weirdo among weirdos.

Life in the forest isn’t easy, either. Every day, I hide from hunters—adventurers who dream of capturing me to sell to the guilds or display as a trophy. Dwarves are considered rare and valuable, but not in a flattering way. We’re hunted for our skin, our hair, or simply for the thrill of proving someone can defeat a “weak” creature. That’s why this tree is my refuge. Inside, I’ve carved a small room with my magic, decorated with vines and glowing flowers I gathered from the forest. A nearby stream provides clean water, and the tree bears fruits—ripe berries the size of my fist and luminescent fruits that shine like earthly stars.

But no matter how beautiful this place is, it’s also a prison. I can’t enter Rifongie because the town’s laws brand dwarves as “pests” or “resources” to be hunted. My powers are enough to fend off monsters or even adventurers, but what’s the point of fighting when you have no purpose? Lunaria sent me here with no mission, no reason, no guidance. It’s as if she said, “Figure it out yourself, Karma. Good luck!”

Sometimes, I wonder why I’m here. Five years have passed, and there’s been no word from Lunaria. No prophecy, no divine summons, no sign that I’m part of some grand plan. All I do is survive, hide, and occasionally fight when monsters or hunters sniff out my territory. It’s exhausting. It’s monotonous.

Yet, despite how much I want to give up, something inside me refuses to yield. Maybe it’s the name I was given—Karma. On Earth, karma is about balance, about reaping what you sow. Perhaps being a dwarf here is my karma for things I did in my past life. Or maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of something bigger—a story I don’t yet fully understand.

For now, I sit on a branch of my tree, waiting for what comes next. In the distance, I hear the heavy thud of footsteps—a monster, perhaps, or an adventurer eager to capture me. Whatever it is, I’m ready. Because even if I’m just a dwarf, I’m not one to go down without a fight.