Cherreads

Reincarnated as a Werewolf in Skyrim

FieryInk
He didn’t wake to the sound of birdsong or the warmth of a hearth — he woke choking on blood in the snow. Once, he was an ordinary man in another world. A small apartment. Long nights. Quiet, uneventful life. Now, in the frozen wilderness of Skyrim, he stands over torn corpses with fur on his arms, claws in place of nails, and the taste of human flesh on his tongue. Cursed with lycanthropy from the moment of his rebirth, he’s neither Dragonborn nor destined hero — just prey and predator caught in the same skin. The Imperial Legion wants his head. The Silver Hand would see him butchered. The Companions would bind him to their cause, and the Daedric Lord Hircine watches with patient amusement. The beast inside him hungers for blood. The man he once was clings to scraps of humanity. Each kill, each transformation, tips the balance further toward one fate — either the rise of a monster-king feared across Tamriel, or the fall of another nameless soul lost to the Hunt. But every choice has a cost, and every hunt leaves a trail of blood. UPLOAD SCHEDULE: SUN/TUES/THURS
Latest Updates

Marvel: God of Spotlight, The Homelander

"I am not Superman. I am Homelander." The whisper was an internal prayer, a caustic reassurance. Outside the glass tower, the world saw only the Homelander, the Icon, the Man Who Flew the Bomb. They saw the perfect, smiling face of the hero who, in the chaos of the Battle of New York, carried a nuclear warhead through the wormhole and saved a city. The cheers from the streets below—the deafening, worldwide adoration—were the fuel for his ascension. He was crowned their king, a savior in star-spangled spandex. In this new reality, fame wasn't just influence; it was power. He had a system now: the Superstar System. The higher the popularity, the stronger the abilities. It was a viciously simple contract, one he embraced completely. "Matt," he purred into the spotlight, curing the blind lawyer's eyes on live television. "Your city needs an icon, not a devil. Let the light in." He assembled his own team—a perfectly marketed, perfectly managed Super Seven—with Spider-Man now running PR and Daredevil as his reformed protégé. Every action was a performance; every enemy, a prop. When the news of a purple alien named Thanos reached his gilded penthouse, Azu smiled, a blinding, dangerous flash for the cameras. "Thanos," he murmured, the adoration of billions surging through his veins, making his skin feel like charged steel. His eyes flared with a dazzling red light that promised annihilation. "I heard you're going to wipe out half of my fans?" He was trapped in the Marvel universe, now its most powerful celebrity. And the show had only just begun.
HeroicVerse · 1.6m Views