Scrooge Duck

Maxine A. K. A Max John's is a senior at St John's. She doesn't believe in love nor in mysteries or fate. Her spiritual being feels threatened. For some reason she sometimes dreams about a mystical girl she has never met. She is abused at home, she fights for survival and dignity, but is oblivious of who she really is and where she comes from, or what she'll become. Her existence was declined eon years ago. What if she has a bigger purpose....what if her past caught up with her long ago but never realized it? Until….. Maya is a known kindergarten teacher, she has to start teaching at St Johns. She is a princess in a land oblivious to mankind. Her people are escapees of descendants of a world one can wish to be part of. A city where no man lives. She was chosen to lead her people but doesn't want to. She runs away to live amongst humans. She always wanted to be free and choose her own life, and lover. She dreams about a young girl. She never questioned why? Until...... All calls they return to their homes, humanity is at stake, and they are the only ones to fight who was coming, what had been going on eons ago? What will they do? Duck, or dive?

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.