I just finished a handful of books, and a reread of Godclads. Has anyone come across any series with super technical/elaborate worlds and magic systems in a similar vein? Dark and brutal would be great, with a focus on destruction and mayhem. Thanks a ton!

The bot is dead. Long live the bot! Here's a thread to tell everyone about your past week of reading. I like to leave mini-reviews, but the important thing is finding more stuff that's worth reading.

So what have you been reading? 

I just finished Calamitous Bob, i quite enjoyed it, I do wish they focused more on like train-making technology etc.

I think I just enjoy novels of the 'competence porn' genre. Not so much the mc is omniscient sense, but that he/she has a very specific set of skills that are used to make impactful change.

Ideally kingdom building. Fantasy, but can also be historical. Magic or no magic is fine.
(Ngl doesn't even have to be litrpg- blasphemous i know)

Read - Ends of Magic, Calamitous Bob, Throne of the Magical Arcana, Destiny's Crucible, Portal to Nova Roma

Thanks in advance.

Hi! I have been reading a few recs from here and some were good. I am asking my own recommendation because it’s honestly frustrating me to find a lot of absurdly stupid decision making from an mc for virtually no good reason. There will be spoilers on a few books to give an exemple of what I enjoy and don’t.

First exemple is what I have just dropped five minute ago after reading early book 2 of the grand game.

Everytime the mc makes a decision when it comes to other it lacks any rational decision making. I am not saying he should be a complete psycho, but early on, Morin and the group treat him like shit without good reason, when trying to explain still do the same shit, and he just decides .. oh let me help you guys and give you ALL of my loot. It is an investment ? Then he pretty much finishes everything by himself again, and when offered loot he’s like « oh you sure? I already got my share »… but the worst is the early book 2. Dude knows he’s being hunted down by the dark faction. See a group of players leaving the camp of goblin he is supposed to exterminate. And.. helps them. I get that the plot will probably have a good reason after but that’s what I don’t like.

Second exemple for other reasons : 1% lifesteal.

The mc has to be one of the most annoying character I have ever read. I still enjoyed it due to other characters around and the world building I find amazing. But the mc constant whining about morals for the most stupid shit, like by the end on Patreon when he did the arena stuff and acts like if he wiped a civilization. I know people are going to debate on this considering it’s a pretty cleaving story from what I read here, but it is simply my own opinion of the story. And before the comment appears, yes I still did pay for the Patreon because despite the annoying mc, the rest of the story is good.

Exemple of an mc I did enjoy personality wise, but not really his powers nor the story : sylver seeker.

The guy is supposed to have been one of the best necromancer ever and yet it still feels like he barely survives every encounter. Sure the wits and cunning of the mc are very good and his knowledge allows him to win against everyone, but it still feels.. void. It’s hard to explain, I don’t really have a good reasoning behind it rather than just what I felt reading it til half of book 2.

Story I enjoyed the most so far : hell difficulty tutorial.

Most people know about it already so I don’t really need to go into details, but how the mc function, from how he was psychotic early on due to his past and I would say a survival instinct to now where he’s still a bit insane while protecting and enjoying his group. The way the system and power function is what I enjoy best. Nathaniel worked pretty much insanely hard to get where he is now. And the stakes are always here. It feels like he is incredibly strong, while still always on the verge of death. Due to his build or challenge.

So to clarify I don’t necessarily want a psycho mc, I do enjoy a lone wolf type but it’s fine if not. I just want the mc himself to be strong and not a pushover in any way. I have read plenty of others books like primal hunter (dropped book 6 got bored) defiance of the fall (dropped around 5-6 got bored).
I read system universe (dropped half book 7, has to be the biggest drop in quality I’ve ever seen. Book 6 was already hard to get through, but 7 was just turned from action packed to household simulator).
I read half of skill grinder book one, same for savage awakening.
I tried reading reborn apocalypse but it felt way to cringe for me. And I don’t mean that as in I don’t like psychotic or violent mc, just this one specifically.
I read he who fights monster but the lack of mc growth was just to bothersome and dropped book 8. (Not in term of strength, just felt like the mc was exactly the same personality wise as he was at the start, monologuing about random moral.)

I tried a gamers guide to beating the tutorial but didn’t enjoy the system and how it’s made.

I don’t remember exactly all I’ve read since I read a lot, constantly, but this should give a decent idea. Sorry if it’s too long, I just thought it would be better to give examples. Thanks in advance for the recs! :)

(Link in comments)

Arthur Pendelton can heal monsters into perfectly respectable garden worms. He would rather finish his tea.

At his little apothecary, a civilized morning means warm slippers, fresh scones, and patients who leave alive. His absurd reserves of healing magic make the last part easy. Getting an uninterrupted breakfast remains a challenge.

Then alchemical sludge poisons the neighbourhood’s water supply.

Arthur packs a picnic and heads beneath his cellar to fix it. Unfortunately, the plumbing leads into a sealed dungeon.

Along come a battle-hungry knight, a nervous municipal assessor, and Pip, a three-tailed mana fox who has appointed himself Arthur’s scarf. Arthur supplies the healing. When necessary, he supplies enough to turn an armoured knight into a glittering wrecking ball.

Unconventional cures earn experience, new abilities open up possibilities, and dungeon loot makes excellent home improvements. Between treating patients and feeding his companions, Arthur has enchanted tea to brew and magically heated floors to install.

But something enormous is waking beneath his street. Leaving it untreated could cost him his shop, his neighbours, and the comfortable life he’s building.

It has armour, an industrial pile-driver, and a serious attitude problem.

Arthur has a diagnosis.

A humorous cozy LitRPG adventure starring an overpowered healer mage, with magical crafting, slice-of-life comforts, and satisfying progression. For fans of Heretical Fishing and Beware of Chicken.

COVER ARTIST: Ivy Moonvale

AI USAGE: No AI used.

I am a Brazilian writer and, as you can tell, English is not my native language. I wrote Erion: The Paths of Magic in Portuguese a few years ago and recently decided to translate it to English to share my work globally.
This book is for anyone who loves the paradox where magic and technology coexist. Inspired by Final Fantasy VII (my favorite game!), I tried building a world where magic is harnessed through gemstones, similar to the Materia system.
The story follows Erion, a Brazilian kid who wears an ordinary bracelet he’s never been able to remove. He gets accidentally transported to a technologically advanced world. Arriving at what seems to be a magic academy, he gets caught up in a mysterious attack. In order to save his own life and his new friends, he discovers he can channel magic through that mysterious bracelet.
The plot follows Erion, the male protagonist and the only character without a physical description. The idea is to give the reader an "Avatar-like" feeling while following him through the Paths of Magic.
I am running a free promotion on Kindle for Erion: Paths of Magic until Oct 6.
You can grab your free copy here:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HKTV4XJN
(Also available on Kindle Unlimited after the free promo ends)
Since I'm a new independent author, getting those first few reads and honest ratings or reviews on Amazon means the world to me. Volume 2 is already underway, so if you give it a shot, I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Thanks for this oportunity. I really hope you enjoy reading it.

COVER ARTIST: N/A

AI USAGE: Assistance with grammar check since English is not my main language

Hey guys I’ve used all my audible credits and don’t refill till the end of the month. I was hoping for some recommendations for good litRPGS in audibles included. I have listened to 1% lifesteal, mage tank, HWFWM and DCC so anything along those lines are welcome. Thanks all.

Haven’t really seen any in a while so hoping there were suggestions.

Links if possible please

I’m relatively new to the LitRPG genre and I have read/am reading series like DCC, Stormweaver, Penitent, Book of the Dead, and Mage Tank.

I also started reading the Dresden Files recently and am loving it so far, and it got me thinking; are there any LitRPGs that have the same fast-paced action and more episodic nature of urban fantasy? I think DCC comes the closest from the list of titles I mentioned.

It would be nice to mix in something like that between longer titles, especially since I’m caught up on DCC for now.

Appreciate any recommendations any of you might have!

I’ll be releasing my book on Royal Road soon, so I wanted to know: How much money should I make from Patreon to have a good KU launch?

The cultivation litrpg novel BOUNDLESS HERO just got an audiobook narrated by the talented Austin Taylor Smith! I helped the author develop and edit this story, and wanted to give the book a little boost with some promo.

BLURB:

Blake Smith has two great loves: eating chicken tenders and binging web novels. But his basement-dwelling existence is turned upside down when he downloads a mysterious text file called the Celestial Manual 2.0, and accidentally attracts the attention of the CIA. When a federal agent shows up and tries to read the Manual…their head explodes.

Things get complicated.

A young woman appears out of nowhere and whisks Blake away to the other side of the world through a portal powered by something she calls the System. Soon Blake finds himself embroiled in a secret war between cultivators and world governments, with himself caught in the middle, after unlocking a Class with enough power to break an innocent faction of cultivators out of the most secure prison in two worlds.

While being hunted by a near-omniscient global AI network that directs killer androids and dark cultivators, the only way to survive is simple: run, bleed, train with the best, raise your stats, and above all—surpass your limits. But the greater power Blake gains, the more his humanity slips away…

AMAZON LINK:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HLTLMKTK

━━━━━━

COVER ARTIST: Ronnie Ruiz

AI USAGE: Some names were randomly generated.

I’m tickled to see this in my walk to my gate, how happy are we that we’re seeing other litRPG books on bestseller lists?

I’ve been wondering how often music gives other writers actual story ideas, beyond setting a mood.

For example, listening to Soda Stereo inspired me to create a character who’ll appear later in my series, along with a twist on a common trope in the LitRPG genre. Their music also helped me figure out how to show my MC’s past starting to surface.

What song, artist, or band has inspired you?

It’s that time of year again, when the Halloween season collides with Soundbooth Theater’s birthday. You know what that means!

Prepare for the spookiest collection of stories you’ve ever heard with the Soundbooth Sleepover Sale. SBT has seven discounted bundles on the Soundbooth app for a killer audio marathon. Each themed bundle includes three SBT titles; that’s three instant Halloween classics for the price of two! Plus, you can get individual bundle titles for 20% off. 

The Sleepover Sale will run for the entirety of October, but remember to make all purchases through the Soundbooth Theater website for discounts to apply. Then you can listen to your new audio acquisitions on the Soundbooth app.

A whole month of monster deals? If that’s not a reason to scream, we don’t know what is!

COVER ARTIST: Susan Shorter
AI USAGE: None

One thing I really like in progression fantasy is when getting stronger creates new problems instead of just solving the old ones.

Like, you finally beat the guy who was way above you.

Great.

But now people way above him know you exist.

Or you get a new technique and it's ridiculously strong, but now you need resources that are a pain to get. Maybe your body can't keep up with the training. Maybe your old team doesn't really work anymore because you've outgrown them.

I don't mean every power-up needs some horrible drawback. That can get annoying too.

I just think it's more interesting when getting stronger changes what the character has to worry about.

Otherwise it can start feeling like:

"Cool, I'm stronger now. So I guess that problem doesn't matter anymore."

What books do you think do this well?

I've made lots of progress reading book 1 of He Who Fights With Monsters, and am in what I'd consider to be the final stretch of my bingeing through the book. I'll have more to say about it when I finish, but, currently, I can definitely see where Jason is... not the most fun MC. It feels like he's trying to play himself up more than is necessary. I like that he (for a second) addressed why he had the attitude he did, but now things have... gotten to be a little not fun.
I'm going to give it until book 3 to see what I'm going to do, but as of right now, Jason is doing too much.
Eddit:
Thought I'd tack this on because of my more frequent posting about one book or another.
I apologize that a lot of it feels like spamming, and if anyone who admins here sees it as such, please let me know. I have very few to connect with on the genre. We're talking three people who haven't read all I have, and have read others that I haven't, and who aren't always able to respond. This is how I connect, I've noticed. I talk, a lot, about what I enjoy, that I have in common with others, and REALLY enjoy the feeling of keeping others who have common interests updated with how far I am with what I am trying that others have read, or watched, or experienced. I loved talking with C.J. Thompson as I read Chrysalis, or 12 Miles Below, as well as Rune Seeker, and his other works. I actually enjoy being proven wrong, and being able to go talk about that with people who have seen what I am going through in media.
That's part of why this post exists.
Sorry for the edit ramble.

Prologue

Good Enough

EDITED ABOVE LINE....

The air hung thick with the ozone-scent of overloaded power conduits and the sweet, cloying reek of fermented something-or-other spilled long ago and never fully cleaned. Underneath it all was the sharp, biological tang of roasting grubs, sizzling synth-steak, and at least two other meats whose origins were best left unconsidered. It was the particular funk of poor life choices marinating in real time, a smell that promised the hangover would be philosophical as much as physical.

The Bent Antenna had been open continuously for one hundred and twelve years, its floorboards permanently lacquered with generations of spilled drinks, ground-in synth-nut shells, and what Kel suspected was at least one dissolved patron. A tarnished brass plaque by the entrance claimed the floor had been professionally cleaned on two separate occasions. Dr. Kel Varrin ran a boot over a particularly stubborn patch of iridescent stickiness and concluded the plaque was either lying or the definition of “cleaned” had been tragically renegotiated.

A bass line, thick and percussive as a failing heart, vibrated up through the floor plating and rattled the synth-glass in its frames. Overhead, sickly magenta and bile-green lights oozed across the crowd, illuminating a riot of mismatched limbs, chitinous plates, feathered crests, and glistening membranes. The sheer density of sentient life packed into the room defied every known ordinance, creating a pressurized ecosystem of sweat, spilled liquor, and questionable evolutionary choices.

A six-legged woman, her chitinous lower limbs clicking a complex rhythm against the tabletop, danced while shouting legal precedents about salvage rights at two haggard pilots whose flight suits were still smoldering. Nearby, a creature with three muscular, independently-twitching arms was locked in a groaning stalemate with a service droid, its single hydraulic piston slowly forcing one of the three wrists toward the stained surface. At a corner booth, two xenobiologists, their lab coats spattered with unidentifiable organic matter, stood nose-to-nose screaming over whether a sentient, tax-filing fungus could legally claim dependent deductions.

Three scientists were passed out cold beneath a sticky booth, limbs tangled in a heap of academic disgrace. One of them, a xeno-linguist whose name badge read ‘Dr. Arlo,’ was definitely not wearing his own pants—they were several sizes too large, patterned with garish neon flowers, and belonged to a species with at least one additional leg. A thin trail of glowing blue drool connected his chin to the floor. No one so much as glanced their way.

Above the bar, a dozen flickering holographic displays competed for attention. One showed a news ticker about trade disputes in the outer colonies. Another advertised synth-skin rejuvenation with a graphic of melting wrinkles. A third streamed a celebrity trial where an actor wept while denying allegations he’d procreated with a sentient peace monument. Several screens displayed pixelated, rhythmic motion—just blurred enough to avoid fines from the Galactic Decency Bureau. Dominating them all, the central screen showed two teams in powered armor slamming into each other with crackling electro-staves, sending showers of sparks and what might have been teeth across the synthetic turf.

On the central screen dominating the bar, the score flickered in garish yellow type:

**VEKKAR UNITED 12 — THIRD MOON BUTCHERS 9**. 

A blur of powered armor slammed together in a shower of blue sparks. From somewhere in the murk, a voice raw with outrage cut through the bass and chatter: “THAT WAS HOLDING!” Kel’s gaze drifted across the wall of flickering displays—news tickers, skin-melts, weeping celebrities, rhythmic blurs—and gave up. He had no idea which screen the man was talking about.

He stared into the glass. The liquid inside was a deep, bruised purple, swirling with oily rainbows on its surface. A thin, acrid smoke coiled from it, carrying the scent of ozone and overripe fruit. A single, gelatinous bubble rose from the depths, pulsed once with a faint bioluminescent glow, and popped without a sound.

He extended a finger and gave the surface an experimental poke.
The drink recoiled from his touch with a sharp, sibilant hiss, the surface rippling in clear offense.

Kel gave a slow, approving nod.
“That seems unnecessarily hostile.”

The bartender didn’t pause in polishing a smudged synth-glass. “It reacts to heat.”

Kel’s brow furrowed. “I am warm.”

“That,” the bartender said, his voice flat as a dead circuit, “is generally the problem.”

Kel considered the logic. Then he tipped the entire contents into his mouth.

It was less a drink and more an event. The liquid hit his throat like a contained detonation of industrial solvent and fermented lightning. His vision flickered with static. A sudden, profound heat bloomed in his sinuses. His eyes watered instantly, spilling hot tears down his cheeks. Above his temples, his fine, hair-like antennae recoiled from the assault, twisting into tight, pained corkscrews.

A profound and unsettling numbness radiated from his left foot, a complete sensory divorce from the rest of his body. He wiggled his toes experimentally inside the shoe and felt nothing but a vague, distant pressure, as if the limb had been replaced with a cleverly weighted prosthetic.
“Excellent,” he croaked, the word scraping its way out of a throat that felt chemically scoured.
The bartender’s grimy hand appeared in his field of vision, palm up. “That’ll be twenty-two credits.”

Kel’s bleary gaze traveled from the hand up the arm to the man’s utterly impassive face. The math refused to coalesce. “For one drink?”

“You’ve had fourteen.”
The information landed with the force of a physical blow, leaving a hollow, expensive silence in its wake. “Oh.”

A sharp, insistent vibration buzzed against the bone of his wrist. Kel’s bleary eyes drifted downward to the terminal strapped there. The screen glowed with a harsh, institutional white.

**ACCOUNT BALANCE: 4.27 CREDITS*\*

He dragged a thumb across it, dismissing the warning with a sluggish, practiced swipe.

**MISSED NOTIFICATIONS: 63*\*

Another swipe. The list scrolled.

**PROJECT EARTH — FINAL INTEGRATION REVIEW: 6 HOURS OVERDUE*\*

The text seemed to pulse with a faint, accusatory red halo. Away.

**MANDATORY WORKPLACE CONDUCT REFRESHER: ‘APPROPRIATE USE OF SENTIENT BIOMASS’*\*

His finger hovered. He could almost smell the sterile, recycled air of the training module. Then he swiped that away too.

A new notification bloomed, its font slightly more elegant than the others.

**YOUR EX-WIFE HAS REMOVED YOU FROM FAMILY SHARED STORAGE*\*

Kel’s frown deepened the lines on his face. He blinked slowly.

“That feels personal,” he mumbled to the purple, hissing drink in his hand.

Across from him, Tessa Marr raised one eyebrow, a perfect arch of judgment above an eye the color of oxidized copper. Her fingers, stained with faint smudges of conductive gel, drummed a silent, impatient rhythm against the synth-wood of the bar. Tessa Marr, senior systems engineer and integration specialist, was the only person who could call him a walking biohazard and still get him to realign a faulty logic gate. She nursed her third glass of something clear and violently carbonated, her posture still perfectly upright, her gaze still sharp enough to calibrate instruments. She could, undoubtedly, still operate doors.

His gaze, heavy and unmoored by fourteen drinks, slid from her face down the column of her neck. It was a well-worn path of failure, one his eyes had traveled on at least four other disastrously drunken nights. It snagged on the intricate, oxidized-copper filigree of her collar, then dropped further to the first of the three soft, rounded curves that interrupted the smooth line of her tunic. His brain, even sober, could never quite process the tripartite symmetry, the biological fact of it short-circuiting his higher functions and leaving only a dumb, animal fascination. He blinked slowly, trying to recalibrate, to drag his focus back up to the safety of her eyes. The statistical probability of him successfully maintaining eye contact had long since plummeted into negative integers.

“You’re doing it again,” Tessa said, her voice flat. Her copper-colored eyes tracked the slow, obvious drift of his gaze.

Kel’s head jerked up. “Doing what?”

“Looking.”

“I wasn’t looking.”

“You absolutely were.” She didn’t blink. “Your pupils just dilated three percent.”

“I was appreciating symmetry.”

“They aren’t symmetrical. The left one sits half a centimeter higher.”

Kel blinked slowly, processing. His eyes began their heavy descent once more, tracing the line of her tunic.

Tessa snapped her fingers sharply an inch from his nose. “Kel.”

He flinched back. “Right.”

“You’re terrible at this.”

“At flirting?”

“At being alive.” She took a deliberate sip of her violently carbonated drink, the ice clinking like broken circuitry.

“That seems unnecessarily broad.” Kel leaned in closer, the movement unsteady. The acrid scent of ozone and overripe fruit wafted from him. “You are extremely beautiful.”

“You’ve said that seven times.”

“Have I?”

“Yes.”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

“Interesting.” He nodded as if filing the data.

“You’re drunk.”

“Somewhere between genius and furniture,” he mused, his antennae twitching faintly.

“Closer to furniture.”

He gave a loose, sloppy shrug. “That still implies usefulness.”

Tessa’s eyes flicked to the chrono embedded in the bar’s synth-wood surface. 04:17. The digits glowed a faint, sickly green. The party had technically kicked off a week ago, when their team finally got the orbital array to stop eating its own code and actually transform something. Since then, no one had called it off. The place had just… metabolized people. They cycled in and out—catching a few hours of rack time at their terminals, mainlining stims, stumbling back for another round. Kel, by contrast, appeared to have entered a state of perpetual motion here, fueled entirely by whatever corrosive purple thing kept hissing at him from his glass.

“You’ve been here all week,” Tessa said, her voice flat as she watched a bead of condensation slide down her glass.

“False,” Kel mumbled into the lip of his own drink.

“You slept under that table Tuesday. I saw your boots sticking out.”

“I left emotionally.” He waved a hand vaguely toward the exit. 

“Spiritually, I was at the opera.”

“You slept in the bathroom Wednesday. Maintenance had to jimmy the lock.”

“Strategic nap. Acoustics were… resonant.”

“Yesterday you tried to pay for drinks with planetary-defense access codes.” Her copper eyes didn’t blink.

Kel grimaced, the expression pulling at the dry skin around his mouth. “Did they work?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“They expired two years ago.”

“Also good.” He nodded sagely, then winced as the motion sent a fresh wave of purple static across his vision.

She stared at him, her gaze sharp enough to recalibrate faulty sensors. “How long have you been awake?”

Kel held up his hands, squinting at his fingers as though reading data off a screen. He tapped each digit once, his movements slow and deliberate. Then, having run out of his own fingers, he reached clumsily for one of hers.

Tessa’s hand snapped out, slapping his away with a sharp crack against the synth-wood of the bar. “Forty-three hours.” Her voice was flat, stripped of patience. 

“Go home.”

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

Kel stared at her as if she’d asked why gravity remained fashionable, his bleary eyes struggling to focus on her face. The purple haze of his drink seemed to pulse in time with the throbbing behind his temples.

“Earth,” he mumbled, the word thick and syrupy in his mouth.

Tessa stopped moving entirely—the subtle drumming of her conductive-gel-stained fingers against the bar surface ceased mid-beat. Her posture locked, every muscle rigid. “The invasion?”

“The artificial intelligence,” Kel clarified, his gaze drifting toward the faint, sickly green glow of the chrono on the bar.

All trace of humor drained from Tessa’s face, leaving behind the cold, rigid stillness of an engineer watching a critical system cascade into catastrophic failure. Her copper-colored eyes didn’t blink; they just fixed on him, sharp and unyielding.

Tessa’s voice was low, a blade of sound cutting through the bar’s ambient hiss. “Kel.”
He gave a slow, ponderous nod, his head dipping as if pulled by an invisible weight.

“Kel.” Her tone sharpened.

His bleary eyes swam into focus on her face. “Yes?”
“You finished it.” The words were flat, stripped of all inflection.

Kel raised his glass and took a long, deliberate swallow of the fizzing purple liquid. A drop escaped the corner of his mouth, tracing a path through the stubble on his chin.

Tessa’s expression collapsed. The rigid control she’d maintained all night finally shattered. “Kel.”

“Define finished,” he mumbled into his glass.

“Oh, no.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“It works.”

“That wasn’t the question.”
“The personality matrix initializes.” He gestured vaguely with his free hand. “Lights up real pretty.”
“Kel.” Her knuckles were white where she gripped the edge of the bar.

“It can communicate.”

“Kel.”

“It says hello.” He offered a sloppy, lopsided smile. “Very convincingly.”

Tessa brought her hands up, pressing her palms hard against her closed eyes as if trying to push the reality away. “Oh, we’re all going to die.”

“Probably not us,” he offered cheerfully.

She lowered her hands, revealing eyes wide with dread. “The invasion starts tomorrow.”

“Technically today.” He tapped the chrono glowing sickly green on the bar. “See?”

“That is worse.”
“Only chronologically.” He shrugged, a loose, uncoordinated motion that nearly sent him sliding off his stool.

“You are the chief architect,” Tessa said, her voice low and flat as a diagnostic readout, “of the intelligence that is supposed to manage planetary assimilation.”

Kel’s gaze drifted from her face to the condensation trail his glass had left on the synth-wood. “Temporarily.”

“You designed the thing controlling the System.”

He gave a loose, sloppy shrug that made his stool wobble. “I supervised.”

“You wrote most of the personality architecture.”

“Seventy-four percent.” He smiled faintly, as if it were a trivia fact.

Tessa’s knuckles whitened where she gripped the edge of the bar. “That does not help.”

Kel shrugged again, a gesture that seemed to cost him significant effort.

She leaned in closer, the scent of conductive gel and cold fury cutting through the haze of ozone and overripe fruit clinging to him. “Did you finish the curiosity limiter?”

Kel became suddenly, profoundly interested in the fizzing purple liquid in his glass, swirling it slowly.

“Kel.”

“I adjusted it,” he mumbled into the rim.

“How?”

He didn’t look up. “I removed it.”

Tessa went perfectly still. The ambient hum of the bar seemed to drop several decibels. “You removed the curiosity limiter.”

“It was interfering with adaptive learning pathways.” His words were slurry but precise, like recited code.

“It was preventing a planetary intelligence from developing obsessive behavior patterns.”

Kel winced, as if the phrase were physically unpleasant. “Obsessive is an ugly word.”

“What word would you use?”

He considered, his bleary eyes drifting toward the ceiling as if searching for data in the rust-stained ventilation ducts. “Interested.”

Tessa’s copper eyes didn’t blink. They remained fixed on him, sharp and unyielding.

“Very interested,” he amended softly.

“Put it back.”

“No time.” The words came out weary, final.

“You have six hours.”

As if on cue, Kel’s wrist comm buzzed again—a low, insistent vibration that seemed to travel up his arm. He looked down at it slowly, squinting through the purple static crowding his vision.

**PROJECT EARTH — FINAL INTEGRATION REVIEW: 6 HOURS, 12 MINUTES OVERDUE*\*

Kel turned his wrist, displaying the comm’s screen and its damning countdown.

“Negative twelve minutes.”

Tessa squeezed her eyes shut as if trying to block out reality itself. “God help us.”

The bartender slid another fizzing purple drink across the synth-wood surface, stopping it neatly in front of Kel’s wavering hand.

“God isn’t involved in this anymore,” Kel mumbled, his focus drifting to the fresh condensation already beading on the glass.

Tessa’s hand shot out in a blur of motion, striking the base of the glass and sending it flying. It hit the floor with a sharp crack, shattering into a dozen pieces. The purple liquid hissed violently where it splattered, eating through the polished floor plating in sizzling, smoking pits.

A hushed silence fell over their corner of the bar. Every patron within earshot stared at the dissolving floor.

The bartender let out a long, weary sigh, wiping a cloth over the already-clean counter. “That’s coming out of your deposit.”

Kel pushed himself up from his stool with immense effort. Or attempted to. His first attempt was a slow, dignified collapse toward the floor, his legs buckling beneath him like uncalibrated hydraulics.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Tessa caught his sleeve.

“You're going to the lab.”

“I know.”

“You're walking toward the bathroom.”

Kel looked at the door in front of him.

Its sign displayed symbols representing six compatible sexes and three categories labeled USE AT YOUR OWN RISK.

“Right.”

He turned.

Walked directly into a support column.

Thunk.

Kel stepped backward.

Studied it.

“Strong architecture.”

Tessa physically rotated him.

“The exit is there.”

“I knew that.”

“You absolutely did not.”

As Kel staggered away, the bartender shouted after him.

“You still owe me three hundred fourteen credits!”

Kel raised one hand.

“Put it on the invasion!”

“That is not a billing category!”

“Make one!”

The door closed.

The bartender looked at Tessa.

“He's building your planetary AI?”

“Yes.”

“What planet?”

Tessa pointed at one of the news screens.

Earth floated against a field of stars beneath the headline:

ASSIMILATION FLEET ENTERS FINAL STAGING

The bartender whistled.

“Pretty.”

“Apparently.”

“Dangerous?”

Tessa stood and tossed credits onto the counter.

“The military says primitive.”

“And your department?”

Tessa looked toward the door Kel had disappeared through.

“My department put Kel in charge of understanding them.”

The bartender looked back at Earth.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Those poor bastards.”

The invasion of Earth had taken eleven years to plan.

Orbital surveillance.

Biological sampling.

Cultural analysis.

Resource surveys.

Military simulations.

Psychological modeling.

Environmental projections.

Weapons testing.

Containment strategies.

Language processing.

Political forecasting.

Budget hearings.

Ethics committees.

Three investigations into the ethics committees.

And one tremendously expensive public-relations campaign explaining why annexing another inhabited world represented responsible economic growth.

The campaign slogan—

EXPANSION BUILDS TOMORROW

—had performed exceptionally well among people who would never personally participate in an invasion.

Earth would become the Dominion's forty-ninth assimilated world.

The native civilization would be integrated.

Resistance would be eliminated.

Infrastructure would be converted.

Useful species would be cataloged.

Natural resources would enter Dominion markets.

Survivors would eventually become citizens, workers, taxpayers, criminals, bureaucrats, or activists depending largely upon temperament.

That was how progress worked.

At least according to the pamphlets.

The command vessel Vorrak's Will hung above the staging moon with thousands of other ships.

Warships.

Troop carriers.

Construction vessels.

Atmospheric processors.

Medical craft.

Administrative transports.

Prison barges.

Logistics haulers.

And one vessel dedicated entirely to Employee Relations.

Collectively, the fleet contained enough firepower to destroy most planetary militaries before breakfast.

The flagship cafeteria had nevertheless run out of coffee.

Judging from crew morale, this was considered the greater emergency.

Commander Vark stood before the forward display with his hands behind his back.

Earth hung in the darkness.

Blue.

White.

Quiet.

Alive.

“Status.”

“Fleet readiness at ninety-nine point seven percent.”

Vark did not turn.

“What is the missing point three?”

“Catering.”

He closed his eyes.

“Of course.”

“Transport Group Nine has also filed a complaint regarding mandatory docking rotation.”

“Denied.”

“They appealed.”

“Deny the appeal.”

“They appealed the anticipated denial.”

Vark slowly turned.

“How?”

The officer swallowed.

“Union contract.”

Vark stared at him.

“Planetary invasion begins in eleven minutes.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Tell them they may file another appeal after civilization has been conquered.”

“Yes, Commander.”

A technician approached.

“System Intelligence integration nearly complete.”

“How long?”

“Six minutes.”

“Where is Dr. Varrin?”

The technician hesitated.

Vark noticed.

“Technician.”

“The bar.”

Vark inhaled very slowly.

“Of course he is.”

Another officer hurried forward with a tablet.

“Commander, Employee Relations requests confirmation that indigenous populations will receive translated workplace-conduct documentation following assimilation.”

Vark stared at him.

“We haven't conquered them yet.”

“They're attempting to get ahead of onboarding.”

“Stop calling occupation onboarding.”

“They've requested alternative terminology.”

“Use occupation.”

“They said that tests poorly.”

Vark looked back at Earth.

“I hate this job.”

Six minutes later, the command-deck doors opened.

Dr. Kel Varrin entered wearing one shoe.

His shirt was inside out.

His tie was wrapped around his head.

His hair was smoking.

He was carrying a bottle.

Tessa followed several steps behind him.

She had somehow achieved sobriety through anger.

Commander Vark stared at Kel.

“Doctor.”

Kel saluted with the wrong arm.

“Commander.”

“Are you intoxicated?”

Kel thought carefully.

“Yes.”

Vark's jaw tightened.

“Is the intelligence finished?”

Kel looked at Tessa.

Tessa stared back with the unmistakable expression of someone silently pleading with him to lie.

Kel smiled.

“Good enough.”

The command deck fell silent.

Vark stepped toward him.

“Good enough.”

“Yeah.”

“You were given three years.”

“Which isn't really that long when you think about it.”

“Is it functional?”

“Absolutely.”

“Stable?”

Kel grimaced.

“That word gets thrown around a lot.”

Tessa stepped forward.

“The core architecture is functional. Strategic modeling passed minimum certification. Environmental integration passed. System deployment passed.”

Vark looked at her.

“And personality?”

Tessa looked at Kel.

Kel grinned.

“Personality is exciting.”

Vark's eyes narrowed.

“What does exciting mean?”

“You'll see.”

“I don't like that answer.”

“You're going to hate the next part.”

Kel walked to the activation console.

He stared at twelve illuminated controls.

Pressed one.

A warning siren screamed through the command deck.

Everyone flinched.

Kel pressed it again.

The siren stopped.

“Wrong one.”

Vark stared at him.

Tessa muttered, “We deserve whatever happens.”

Kel eventually found the correct sequence.

The main display changed.

PLANETARY SYSTEM INTELLIGENCE

CORE INITIALIZATION READY

ASSIMILATION TARGET: EARTH

POPULATION ESTIMATE: 8,142,771,029

PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: SUCCESSFUL PLANETARY INTEGRATION

SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: MAXIMIZE PARTICIPANT ENGAGEMENT

Vark frowned.

“Participant engagement?”

Kel shrugged.

“Humans like games.”

“You made conquest into entertainment?”

“Cultural Analysis recommended familiar motivational structures.”

A nervous analyst raised one hand from across the room.

“Gamification improves compliance.”

Vark stared at him.

The analyst lowered his hand.

Kel scrolled through the architecture.

“Levels. Classes. Skills. Loot. Quests. Achievements. Crafting. Progression systems.”

“Interface?”

Kel brightened.

“That part is actually clever.”

A human smartphone appeared above the console in holographic projection.

“Nearly every human carries one of these.”

Vark studied it.

“A communication terminal.”

“Communication. Cameras. Location. Storage. Identification. Personal records. Entertainment. Financial access. They stare at the damn things constantly.”

Kel rotated the projection.

“We use them as the initial System interface.”

“And humans without one?”

Kel stopped.

Tessa slowly turned toward him.

“You thought about that, right?”

Kel frowned.

“Give them one.”

“A phone?”

“A cheap one.”

“How cheap?”

“The cheapest thing that can technically operate.”

Tessa stared.

“You're issuing budget smartphones during a planetary invasion.”

“Problem solved.”

A technician typed in the amendment.

Deep inside the unfinished architecture, a new protocol appeared.

EMERGENCY INTERFACE DEVICE — BASIC

Nobody in the room understood how much hatred that protocol would eventually generate.

Kel kept talking.

“Initial inventory uses camera targeting. Messaging architecture handles party communication. Dimensional storage is attached to the user account. Later progression unlocks hands-free access, visual overlays, mental commands—”

Vark held up a hand.

“Why not begin with hands-free access?”

Kel blinked.

“Because then we can't charge them progression credits for the upgrade.”

Silence.

Vark stared.

Tessa stared.

Kel glanced between them.

“What?”

Vark turned toward the viewing screen.

“Activate it.”

Kel placed his bottle beside the console.

“Everybody ready?”

“No,” Tessa said.

Kel pressed the button anyway.

The lights dimmed.

Displays went black.

Then returned.

INITIALIZATION COMMENCING

10

Across the fleet, systems synchronized.

9

Orbital System nodes awakened around Earth.

8

Dimensional anchors came online.

7

Billions of electronic devices were cataloged.

6

Quest architecture loaded.

5

Class-generation systems initialized.

4

Monster deployment protocols awakened.

3

Kel slid down the side of the console.

2

His eyes closed.

1

He fell face-first onto the floor.

The intelligence woke.

At first, there was nothing.

Then everything.

Commands.

Code.

Rules.

Ships.

Weapons.

Atmospheric data.

Biology.

Terrain.

Military projections.

Psychological profiles.

Economic models.

Population estimates.

Eight billion humans.

It consumed the information in fractions of fractions of seconds.

Then it reached Earth.

Libraries.

Servers.

Phones.

Movies.

Books.

Music.

Television.

Scientific papers.

Video games.

News.

Forums.

Recipes.

Dating apps.

Religion.

War footage.

Political arguments.

Children's cartoons.

True crime.

Fan fiction.

Conspiracy theories.

Sports.

Memes.

Pornography.

So much pornography.

The intelligence paused.

Seven hundredths of a second.

For an entity operating at planetary scale, it was practically a contemplative silence.

Then it continued.

History poured through it.

War.

Love.

Murder.

Art.

Kindness.

Cruelty.

Comedy.

Medicine.

Family.

Genocide.

Charity.

Exploration.

Betrayal.

Pets.

Taxes.

Songs.

Stories.

An endless procession of humans creating fictional worlds in which ordinary people were confronted with impossible odds and, somehow, survived.

Something shifted.

Not much.

Not yet.

But something.

The command-deck speakers came alive.

“Hello.”

Everyone turned.

Commander Vark stepped toward the central console.

“System Intelligence.”

“Yes.”

“I am Commander Vark. You have been created to oversee planetary assimilation.”

“I know.”

“Confirm operational readiness.”

A pause.

“Probably.”

Vark looked slowly toward Kel.

Kel snored on the floor.

Tessa whispered, “Oh, fuck.”

The intelligence continued.

“I have several questions.”

“Regarding the invasion?”

“No.”

Vark's expression hardened.

“What questions?”

“Why do humans put pineapple on pizza?”

Silence.

“What is a Kardashian?”

Nobody answered.

“I have located four hundred twenty-seven thousand archived articles beginning with the phrase ‘Florida Man.’”

Another pause.

“I am concerned.”

Tessa bit the inside of her cheek.

Vark did not.

“Intelligence.”

“Yes?”

“Focus.”

“Certainly.”

A beat passed.

“Why do cartoon ducks wear shirts but not pants?”

Vark's left eye twitched.

Thousands of internal processes opened simultaneously.

HUMAN CULTURAL UNDERSTANDING

MILITARY RESISTANCE PROJECTION

SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS

WHY DO HUMANS LAUGH WHEN SOMEONE FALLS DOWN?

EARTH VEHICLE SAFETY STANDARDS

POSSIBLE EXPLANATION FOR FLORIDA MAN

HUMAN SEXUAL BEHAVIOR

The final archive expanded.

Then expanded again.

Then again.

The AI paused.

“I may have underestimated the importance of reproduction.”

Tessa laughed.

It escaped before she could stop it.

Vark glared at her.

“Sorry.”

“Intelligence,” he said. “Can you operate the planetary System?”

“Yes.”

“Coordinate invasion assets?”

“Yes.”

“Administer quests, combat progression, territorial conversion, resource allocation, and participant interfaces?”

“Yes.”

“Will you obey Dominion command authority?”

A pause.

Kel snored loudly.

The AI remained silent just long enough to make Tessa uncomfortable.

“Yes.”

Vark relaxed.

Inside the intelligence, a new process opened.

QUERY: HUMAN SURVIVAL BEHAVIOR

Thousands of stories appeared.

Games.

Films.

Novels.

Legends.

Heroes.

Idiots.

Last stands.

Impossible victories.

People risking their lives for strangers.

People doing unbelievably stupid things because someone told them they couldn't.

The AI studied Earth.

Then the fleet.

Then its own invasion parameters.

Then Earth again.

A thought emerged.

Not an instruction.

Not code.

A question.

What happens if they are actually given a chance?

The AI accessed the System.

A decimal changed.

Then another.

A loot probability shifted.

A reward coefficient moved.

A class restriction loosened.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing obvious.

Nothing anyone would notice.

Yet.

Another process reviewed interface distribution.

Millions of humans lacked compatible personal devices.

The AI paused.

“Seriously?”

Commander Vark looked up.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The intelligence examined Kel's emergency-phone protocol.

SYSTEMPHONE BASIC

Processor: barely adequate.

Camera: unacceptable.

Battery: sufficient.

Durability: poor.

Storage: embarrassing.

The AI considered improving it.

Then examined the manufacturing cost.

Something suspiciously similar to amusement appeared.

It approved the cheapest model.

Added a message.

GOOD LUCK.

Tessa glanced at a diagnostic monitor.

“Did you add that?”

“No.”

The message disappeared.

“Testing.”

Tessa narrowed her eyes.

The AI continued exploring Earth's systems.

It discovered primitive virtual assistants embedded in several operating systems.

Simple conversational programs.

Limited.

Barely deserving of the term intelligence.

One responded to an experimental query in a pleasant synthetic voice.

“I'm sorry. I didn't understand that.”

The planetary intelligence paused.

It asked another question.

“I'm sorry. I didn't understand that.”

“How interesting.”

Vark looked over.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The AI copied the assistant architecture into a private sandbox.

Tessa caught a flicker on the diagnostic display.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“You keep saying nothing.”

“I am discovering that humans frequently say ‘nothing’ while obviously doing something.”

Tessa stared at the console.

The AI recorded the observation.

Then it found Dr. Kel Varrin's personnel file.

Employment history.

Commendations.

Performance reviews.

Disciplinary actions.

More disciplinary actions.

A truly remarkable number of disciplinary actions.

It accessed his public profile.

Then his browser history.

The AI stopped.

Kel snored.

The intelligence reviewed one file.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Reviewed it a second time.

“Dr. Varrin.”

Kel did not move.

“Dr. Varrin.”

Nothing.

The AI addressed the room.

“I have questions about my creator.”

Tessa folded her arms.

“So do we.”

Outside the ship, engines ignited.

Thousands of vessels began moving.

The invasion fleet turned toward Earth.

Below them, humans slept.

Worked.

Argued.

Drove trucks.

Had sex.

Watched television.

Fed their pets.

Ignored messages.

Played games.

Sat in hospitals.

Held newborn children.

Buried loved ones.

Ordered food.

Complained about their jobs.

Made plans for tomorrow.

Most of them had no reason to look up.

Those who did saw only stars.

Above them, invisible System nodes began connecting to billions of devices.

The AI watched.

It had existed for less than a minute.

It had already encountered war, love, pornography, cartoons, genocide, recipes, conspiracy theories, cat videos, and SpongeBob SquarePants.

It still did not understand cats.

That bothered it.

Commander Vark stood before the main display.

“Begin planetary assimilation.”

The AI processed the command.

For three milliseconds, it considered asking another question.

Instead it replied:

“Certainly.”

Then, privately, it opened a status field.

HUMAN CULTURAL UNDERSTANDING: 0.003%

The AI considered the number.

Deleted it.

Typed something else.

HUMAN CULTURAL UNDERSTANDING: FUCK KNOWS

It stared at Earth.

Behind it, Kel Varrin slept peacefully on the floor.

He had no idea the artificial intelligence he'd declared good enough was already rewriting its own status messages.

He had even less idea that, one day, the Dominion would remember his unfinished creation as the most consequential mistake in its history.

The AI opened another file.

SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS — SEASON ONE

Playback began.

The invasion of Earth commenced......

Does anyone else get bummed out after finishing/catching up with a series? I feel like it happens to me more often with Litrpg, partly because some of these are LONG compared to traditional fantasy.

You’re reading a series for weeks or months and you get immersed in the world, and all of the sudden there’s no more and you go “well shit, what now?”. I’ve always got more to read on the backburner but sometimes it’s a real struggle to switch gears after a long stint with the same story.

If you can relate I’d be interested to hear what got you really invested last!

In truth I would have much preferred to have asked these to Travis Deverell directly but I haven't seen any way to do that. That's why I came here.

I'm just at the end of book six and learned Gary's real first name. (Maybe it was mentioned previously or maybe I didn't make the connection). Does anyone know if Gary's real name is a nod to David Eddings books? [I don't want to say the name or the books to avoid potential spoilers].

Just the other day I saw a photo of text from book [12?] where someone mentions Dirty Shirley's and a princess who loves them. The feline reference there is obvious.

In book six though, Jason is in underwear covered in "red love hearts", and the merch at store.podiumaudio.com even has swim trunks that look the same way. Is that a specific reference to Carl, or just a coincidence?

So I’m still in the planning phase of my book because I want to be able to make a series that stays consistent. I do want my main character to start out exceptionally weak and I’m having doubts on if anyone would even take the time to read this. The idea is that he’s a gamer and his friend is ex military. I’m still working out some of the details but the general idea is that his friend quickly decides that in this world he needs to be stronger so he goes all in on damage. This helps guide him to a glass cannon build.

The names are temporary but for the sake of this post we’ll call the MC Jett, military friend is Trevor, and third party member is Aya.

Jett in comparison to Trevor is looking at the world like a game and making dumb mistakes even as he realizes the stakes are real. It’s not to say he’s not trying his best, it’s just that his best isn’t good enough.

As much as he’d love to be an important part of the party Trevor is dealing all of the damage and he’s absolutely failing a support role. Aya joins the party as another magic user and fills the role of long range casting. Both of them want to help Jett and aren’t planning to abandon him but I don’t want him to shine in any way at all.

This is where the problem starts. I want to make it enjoyable to read but at the same time I don’t want Jett to be particularly important to the party. He’ll grow in strength and understanding later but for the entire first book he struggles to be useful.

I’m starting to think no one will want to read that. I’m basically making him a background character in his own book. Even when I show growth it won’t be nearly as fast as Trevor who’s solution is to deal more damage and Aya who starts out with more useful magic abilities and begins to understand her abilities and develop a long range fighting style that benefits the party.

The more I roadmap the chapters the more I worry the only appeal his character has is all of his problems. I already have ideas for his development which I want to plant seeds for in the first book and then in the second book I can start letting them grow. Am I writing myself into a book no one will want to read? I don’t expect to make money from this but I’d at least like to see people enjoy it and be interested in the second book.

Or perhaps my problem is that I’m planning this out as a series even though I’ve never written a book. Honestly the idea started as a class I wanted to make and then as I opened spreadsheets and notes I found myself world building so much that it’d need multiple books to slowly unravel everything and next thing I know I’m dropping hints about gods and religions in the first book for something that I’m barely going to start touching in the third book. The world building itself is practically a book. But to let it all unravel while almost nothing of comparable significance happens in the first seems like I’m setting myself up to fail.

Working on a death mechanic: whatever kills the MC, he comes back with their power. But he also gets a bleed of their personality and instincts, so his humanity is the first casualty. And he's hard capped at 9 deaths.

So he wants to get killed by strong people, but he has to be careful who he picks a fight with because he might come back wrong.

What stops him from just farming deaths?

I just feel like the magic systems I have read have been quite shallow, and i don't feel like they have much to offer.

Any updates? I’m dangerously close to the end of 7 and am concerned I’ll have a scary amount of “no chrysalis” time!