The Support Ate it All - Chapter 339: Death (1)

In a realm where even the faintest shadows whisper untold tales, I came to realize that the forgotten often hold the most powerful narratives.As an avid admirer of the world's most beloved series, I never imagined that one night's rest would pull me into its very fabric.“Why on earth am I stuck in this world? And why, of all people, am I him?”I had become Arthur Nightingale—Class A’s most unremarkable student. A magic swordsman barely worthy of mention, ranked 8th among the first-years. A mere footnote in the grand story.Still, with this body’s abilities and my own insider knowledge, I figured I could carve out a peaceful life. Or so I believed.“This was the only way,” the voice repeated, resolute. “The only way to stop her.”Little did I know how truly unique Arthur Nightingale was—or the path this journey would force me to take...

“How long has it been?”10,000,000 Years, a period of time which he dwelled in the endless abyss as a captive of war.After his fall, he lost everything to the hands of those who stand above the heavens.The twelve gods of the constellations, the Primal Zodiacs!Creatures who descended down from the absolute light to consume all.He fought against them only to fall prey to their destruction, locked away in the endless Abyss.Astroth Vermont lost it all, his will, his empire, his powers and his mind, all he knew was despair.But that’s until he woke up, Returning back to the world as someone else.The Blackest Evil was reincarnated as the Tenth Young Master of the Reinhart Family.His return is going to shape the world, returning all into chaos!Will he exact his revenge?Who knows, welcome to the land of carnage

“While playing a Tsukkur erotic game that I loved, I somehow became possessed. To make things worse, I transformed into a perverted kid—one of the villains from the NTR series.”

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.