How Does The Art Style In Metamorphosis Chapter 1 Shape Its Tone?

A new world with nearly unlimited possibilities. A system, classes, magic, skills and monsters. Sounds exciting? But for Jin it didn't go quite as he expected nor was there a princess or a Goddess to welcome him to this new world, his only hope was the system he received. Left alone in the darkness, How will he survive when he wasn't human in the first place?

The life cycle of a butterfly lasts for an average of thirty days. In human time that was nothing. Within that thirty days the butterfly would go through the craziest of cycles, starting as an egg enclosed within a shell that is both impenetrable and fragile. Then that shell would break to let out a creature that was hideous and scary and weird. Soon the creature would enclose itself completely for the second time, never to be seen like that again. It was a period of transformation. In thirty days, a butterfly's life will be complete, coming out of the cocoon as a changed and majestic creature. But humans aren't butterflies and thirty days weren't enough. Book cover credits to the amazing A-Graphics (@hiagraphics). Check her works on https://www.facebook.com/hiagraphics/

René Huang is a French-Chinese Painter who lives in France. He lives alone there when his parents are living in China. He is famous, rich, and handsome. Everything in his life was perfect until finally, unexpected events started happening in his life. He painted some paintings in his sleep, and there was a secret behind them. He wanted to find out the secret, and when he became a guest lecturer in an art university, he met a student who was related to the paintings. Their relationship was not good at first, but when they were investigating the paintings together, the romance started blooming. Note: This novel is inspired by my fanfiction that was posted on another platform. The idea and the story are mines. No plagiarism. Cover by MichelleLeeee

[ Entropy Trilogy #1 ] What surprises are waiting ahead of them as their destiny being entangled with each other? What will happen if love and hate collide? Will they be able to melt the rage, the hatred?

Okay, take a deep breathe and down the memory lane we go. As far as I’m told, I just woke up from a terrible accident that occur months ago that I have no idea- as a matter of fact, I don’t have any recollection of my life before waking up. There are three things that I’m certain: first is that the ‘accident’ has something to do with flight. I know what I saw. It was a giant pair of wings. Secondly, a guy whose face I can’t seem to recall but for some reason is all I can think about. And lastly, I know these two things intersect with one another and the for the reason why and how? I’m not sure. And as I begin to collect the broken fragments of him in my memory, I also begin to collect my missing pieces. Whether its for the better or the worse is what I'm about to find out. Okay, let’s do this again, shall we? Take a deep breathe and down the memory lang we go.

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.