Ephode

A collection of short stories; an anthology. 

I will accept commissions from my readers to write a short story; but of course, I won't be charging you money, as that will most likely somehow violate Webnovel's Terms Of Service. 

To commission a short story, you must leave a review on the novel (the number of stars is irrelevant). You must leave a general summarization in your review. I can accept and write short prompts on fanfictions if you want to, for that you'll have to include the fandom.

The maximum length of chapters for any commissioned short story is three chapters (may change depending on what I may want), so keep the plot short, fun, and concise.

(I can accept smut, but that is always optional to me.)

Here is the format (to copy & paste into your review):

Title:

Summary/Plot: (Eg: In a world where everyone has their own God who they worship, and the God would acts as their own patreon and deity, there is a person who is Godless. He finds an abandoned altar in the middle of the forest while wandering. He's learned about them in class. Abandoned altars would mean someone - or a group - had abandoned their deity. Saddened by the betrayal of the worshipper to his worshipped, he clean the altar. Somehow, in the process of doing so, the god of the ancient altar comes back alive.)

Genre(s): (Eg: Horror, Action, Sci-fi, Fantasy, etc.)

Fandom: (N/A if none)

Smut: (Y/N)

Freeform: (Any specific details you may want to add.) (Eg: I want the main character to lose his right arm in the fight in chapter 2)

The Anthology Of Ephode

But... the images of my sleeping wife filled me with heartache, and with it, came the seething rage. These were the same people—no the same worthless meatbags of rottening flesh that dared to use the memory of my wife against me. 


Strength didn't come to me magically, nor did my weakness suddenly disappear, but my hand no longer trembled in fear. The rage wasn't seething, it was freezing now. It receded like a wave and came crashing back down twice the force as before.


The sword pierced, slashed, and cut. The smell of blood penetrated my nostrils, and I soon became accustomed to the weight of my enemy's intestines hitting me in the face or becoming entangled with my hair.


I didn't eat or sleep, and my only source of sustenance, as disgusting as it was, were the corpses of the fallen.


When my sword broke, I picked up another sword. My clothes were so battered that they didn't offer any means of protection, and any senses of decency were discarded, along with my temporary weapons.


The battle continued on for days, and the battle consisted of one desperate human, against a retreating army of magical primordials.


Of course, life is not merciful, nor is it fair. In the end, it was only a matter of time before my end would come. The injuries added up, and the numbers were stacked against me. A sword cut there, and a stab there, and soon enough, I couldn't hold on for much longer.


Their swords pierced my body, and all I saw in my mind was the image of my peaceful, sleeping wife.


Pathetically, I held on uselessly, breathing and trying to keep my organs from falling out from my exposed stomach. The primordial had already left, assured that I wouldn't be able to retaliate,


My body was getting colder now, the warmth of life slipping.


Sleeping In A River Of Blood (III END)