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Warcraft: I Spread Fire in Azeroth for 7000 Years

TripleCrownss
Ignis Scorrath, an ordinary traveler, meets the most absurd fate imaginable. His soul is forced into the body of a newly hatched black dragon whelp—one born of the Black Dragonflight, the legacy of Neltharion, the Earth-Warder. Before he can even process it, a strange system binds itself to him. Bad news: he is sealed in forced growth and evolution for five thousand years. Good news: when the seal finally breaks… he has already ascended to the level of a demigod. Now known as Obsidian, a newborn demigod of earth, shadow, and flame, Ignis Scorrath barely has time to grasp his power before realizing something far more shocking— The frozen land beneath him is called Northrend. This is Azeroth. And not the Azeroth of heroes and legends, but a distant past—only a few thousand years after the War of the Ancients, long before the rise of the Lich King, the Scourge, or even the great human kingdoms. Seven thousand years too early for everything he remembers. No Arthas. No Scourge. No Burning Crusade. Only a primordial world of titanic forces, ancient dragonflights, proto-kingdoms, and forgotten gods still stirring beneath the ice. With time itself as his greatest advantage, Obsidian must decide— Will he follow the doomed path of the Black Dragonflight… Or reshape the fate of Azeroth before its greatest catastrophes are ever born?
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« MATURE CONTENT » His name is Raven Lustre. And the universe fucked him from day one. Imagine this: You get isekai'd to a fantasy world. Finally, right? Your moment. Dragon slayers, demon kings, the whole power fantasy package. Except when everyone else rolled Dragon, Archangel, Titan—bloodlines so pure they could split mountains on day one—you got Incubus. 60% purity. The discount bin special. Not the "seduce and conquer" kind you read about in those masterpiece web novels. The "your pheromones are weaker than cologne" kind. The "you can't charm anyone stronger than you" kind. Which in a world where everyone else is a walking apocalypse? Means you can't charm anyone who matters. So while Gareth—the muscle-brained Titan hero—was bench-pressing boulders, and Astasia—the Holy Archangel with a body that belonged in a cathedral and a face she hid behind a helmet—was literally glowing with divine power, Raven was in the back. The strategist. The brain. The guy they kept around because someone had to think. And they hated him for it. Astasia called him trash. Disgusting. Bastard. Freak. Every curse word a noblewoman could learn, she threw at him like stones. He thought she despised him. Thought she saw him as the weakest link dragging down the hero party. Turns out? 89% favorability. She was a fucking tsundere. And he never knew. Never saw it. Because he was too busy surviving, too busy stealing quick fucks with noblewomen in hallways just to recharge his trash-tier powers, too busy being treated like a prostitute with a brain instead of a hero. Then there was Nyra. The cat-woman. Gareth's slave. The one Raven fucked in secret because that idiot was too busy drawing pictures of Astasia like a lovesick puppy. 96% favorability. The one who actually loved him. The one he promised to free. And he failed. An Incubus got who died at Hand of Succubus during their first Session. The End.
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