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Pizza Girls: A Futanari Comedy — Out Now!

🚀 Pizza Girls: A Futanari Comedy is out now!

Rosemary Sterling inherited a failing pizzeria, a mountain of debt, and one very unusual hiring practice: every delivery girl is a futanari.

Desperate to save Slice of Heaven, she leans into it. Jala — tall, blonde, packing serious heat — is the first hire. The tips roll in. The customers keep coming back. But running a futanari pizza joint is harder than it looks — and Rosemary’s about to find out just how hot things can get.

🔥 Get your copy now on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H5D16H8J

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Level Up Harem Box Set 1-3 Is Available Now

📦 Level Up Harem Box Set 1-3

Three books. One box set. The complete first story arc.

Machine George’s Level Up Harem Box Set 1-3 collects Starter Dungeon, Desert Raid, and Sky Tower in one $7.99 bundle. 1,500+ pages of dungeon-crawling, party-building, and harem progression.


🔗 Get the Box Set on Amazon — $7.99

Series reading order:

  1. Starter Dungeon (Level Up Harem #1) — $3.99 ★ 4.0
  2. Desert Raid (Level Up Harem #2) — $3.99 ★ 4.4
  3. Sky Tower (Level Up Harem #3) — $4.99 ★ 5.0
  4. 🎁 Level Up Harem Box Set 1-3 — $7.99

Author: Machine George | Publisher: Mythography Studios

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Level Up Harem Series — Read the First Chapter of Every Book

Level Up Harem

A Harem LitRPG Series by Machine George

Level up the party. Level up the heart.

Follow Jace as he delves into dungeons, builds a found-family harem, and levels up everything — tactics, trust, and relationships. What starts in a starter dungeon becomes an epic journey across deserts, through sky-piercing towers, and into frozen labyrinths.

This is a cozy, fast-paced Harem LitRPG series with light system pings, squad chemistry, and romance that builds through trust and shared victories.

The Books

Starter Dungeon

Book 1: Starter Dungeon

Jace needs one clean run to eat today. He walks out with a room deed, two teammates, and a target on his back.

Read Chapter 1 →

Desert Raid

Book 2: Desert Raid

Sand, steel, and a fennec fox-kin guide. Jace crosses the Ash Wastes toward a Scarab Colossus—and a rival party who wants the same prize.

Read Chapter 1 →

Sky Tower

Book 3: Sky Tower

The elevator rises through the clouds toward a spire built by ancient Architects. A golem librarian joins the climb.

Read Chapter 1 →

Ice Labyrinth

Book 4: Ice Labyrinth

The Frozen Bell has been ringing for three centuries. Jace and his party head north into the ice to answer it. Nine days remain.

Read Chapter 1 →

Meet the Characters

Jace

Determined adventurer who builds his harem party one run at a time. Human warrior, tank and leader. Starts as a broke solo delver and becomes the Custodian of the Architect network.

Mira

Cat-eared rogue — small, fast, stubborn, and dangerously principled. Joined Jace in the starter dungeon and never left. Her heart is sharper than her daggers.

Elara

Human healer and Light Chantor. Her voice carries both hymns and hard truths. The calm at the center of every storm the party faces.

Nadiya

Fennec fox-kin scout and guide. Her enormous ears read wind shifts, harmonics, and hidden intentions. Joined in Desert Raid. Found a family she never had.

Ivy

Golem librarian who spent four centuries cataloging data in the Sky Tower. Learning what it means to feel. “I was functional for four centuries. I have been happy for four weeks. I prefer happiness.”

Syl

Dryad, remote support — a forest spirit who speaks through roots and green channels. Crossed frozen channels no dryad should survive to help her family.

Reading Order

  1. Starter Dungeon
  2. Desert Raid
  3. Sky Tower
  4. Ice Labyrinth

Spinoff

Orchard of Monsters — Arcane Breeder Book 1. A spinoff in the same world, available now.

Series FAQ

What genre is this? Harem LitRPG — cozy dungeon-crawling with system mechanics and romance that builds through shared victories.

Is this on Kindle Unlimited? Yes, all books are available on KU.

What’s the reading order? Start with Starter Dungeon and read in publication order. Each book builds on the last.

Is this spicy? Yes. Harem romance is a core part of the series. The uncensored edition bundles all scenes.

Where should I start? Starter Dungeon is the beginning. If you’re already a fan of cozy LitRPG with found-family harem dynamics, you’ll love the whole series.

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Level Up Harem Book 4: Ice Labyrinth — Read the First Chapter

Ice Labyrinth

Level Up Harem — Book 4

By Machine George

Ice Labyrinth

The Frozen Bell has been ringing for three centuries. It’s time to answer.

Jace and his party head north into the ice. The Frozen Bell’s signal is flickering amber at the northern edge of the Architect network—and if it falls silent, everything they’ve built will collapse. Nine days remain before the fracture reaches critical mass and its sympathetic vibration damages the Sky Tower beyond repair.

A new ally joins the climb: Liara Voss, the Last Custodian, who sealed herself in ice three centuries ago to keep the Bell from being weaponized. Ivy the golem librarian learns what it means to feel. Syl the dryad crosses frozen root-ways no forest spirit should survive—because her family needs her.

New characters join the party:

  • Liara Voss — Frozen consciousness merged with the Bell, ghostly presence in the ice
  • Syl — Dryad who manifests physically at great cost
  • Ivy (full member) — Golem learning to feel, sensitive to cold, curious about intimacy

Read on Amazon (Kindle Unlimited)


Chapter 1 — Northbound

The Harmonic Chart pulsed with the rhythm of a dying heartbeat, and Jace had been watching it for three days.

He stood before the projection in the base’s main room, his arms crossed, his shield leaning against the wall behind him. The chart had been their greatest asset since the Sky Tower — a live map of the Architect network that showed every Waypoint, every resonance thread, every whisper of the ancient system stirring back to life. But right now, it only showed him one thing: the Frozen Bell’s signal, flickering amber at the northern edge of the projection, pulsing faster than it had when they’d first returned from the Tower.

Fourteen days had been the Envoy’s estimate. The window before the Bell’s fracture reached critical mass and its sympathetic vibration damaged the Sky Tower beyond repair. That had been five days ago. Nine days left now, and the intervals between pulses were still shrinking.

“You’ve been standing there for an hour.”

Jace didn’t turn. He knew Mira’s voice — the particular blend of concern and deflection she used when she was worried and trying not to show it. “I’m reading.”

“You’re brooding. There’s a difference.”

“Brooding implies I’m not thinking. I’m thinking.”

“About?”

He gestured at the chart. “About whether nine days is enough. About what happens if it’s not. About whether the Envoy gave us that window because it’s accurate, or because they wanted us to move before we had time to be afraid.”

Mira moved to stand beside him, her tail curling in that slow, deliberate way that meant she was running calculations of her own. “The Envoy’s cryptic, but they haven’t lied to us yet.”

“Not lying and being accurate aren’t the same thing.”

“True.” She bumped her shoulder against his arm. “But standing here staring at it isn’t going to make the pulse slow down.”

He knew she was right. He knew she was right the same way he knew the sun would rise and the cold would bite and the Bell would keep ringing until someone answered it. But knowing and acting were different thresholds, and he was still crossing the space between them.

“Jace.”

He turned. Elara stood in the doorway to the shrine alcove they’d built into the base, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes carrying that quiet warmth that had been steadying him since Book 1. “The sleds are loaded. The dogs are ready. Nadiya’s finished the route maps. Ivy’s packed her journals. We’re waiting on you.”

The weight of it settled onto his shoulders — not accusation, but expectation. They were ready. They were always ready. The question was whether he was ready to lead them into another Waypoint, another trial, another chance to fail the people who trusted him.

He glanced at the shrine alcove Elara had built in the corner of the base — a small shelf with a candle, a bowl of water, and a woven cloth bearing the Warm Hand’s symbol. She’d been spending time there every morning since the Envoy’s visit, her prayers growing longer as the departure date approached.

“What does she ask for?” he’d asked once.

“She asks that I be worthy of what I’m being asked to carry.”

“And does it work?”

“It keeps me centered. That counts.”

Jace looked back at the chart. The Frozen Bell’s glyph pulsed amber: once, twice, three times.

I’m coming, he thought. Just give me a moment to breathe.

Aloud, he said: “How’s the cold-weather gear holding?”

Elara’s expression softened, recognizing the deflection but allowing it. “Tamsin outdid herself. The linings are self-warming — she used some kind of weave that channels body heat back into the core. Nadiya’s already tested it in the yard. She says it’s warmer than her desert gear.”

“High praise.”

“She also said she’d rather be in the desert.”

“She always says that.”

“True.”

Nadiya’s voice drifted in from the training yard — a low, melodic whistle that cut through the morning quiet. She was testing the sled lines, her ears tracking every note of the Bell’s distant song. Jace had noticed that she’d been spending more time with the Harmonic Chart than anyone else, reading the northern Waypoint’s pulse with a focus that bordered on obsession.

“She’s hearing it,” Elara said softly, coming to stand beside him. “Through the ice. Through the ground. Through the air. The Bell’s song is everywhere up north, and she’s already tracking it.”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“I think it’s going to be an asset. Nadiya’s ears are the most sensitive instrument we have.”

“So much rides on sound.”

Jace finally stepped away from the chart, crossing to the table where the rest of his gear was laid out in precise rows. Shield straps, double-checked. Spire Conductor, fully charged, its internal crystal glowing with stored resonance. Tamsin’s prototype — the resonance capacitor, installed into the Spire Conductor’s housing, a palm-sized disc of interlocking copper rings that hummed with stored energy. He touched it, feeling the faint vibration against his fingertips.

Beside the capacitor lay the reed-rings — five bands of woven green fiber, each one keyed to Syl’s life-signature. She had sent them through the root-channels a week ago, along with a message that had arrived folded in leaves: “The northern channels are cold but alive. I’ll be listening. Wear these when you cross the Frostfang.”

Jace picked up his ring, sliding it onto his finger. It pulsed once, warm, and settled against his skin like a second heartbeat. He could feel Syl’s presence at the edge of his awareness — distant, but present. Listening.

“Tamsin said it’s still in prototype stage,” Mira said, joining him at the table. “One use per charge. Thirty seconds of complete resonance silence. She wasn’t sure if it would hold in extreme cold.”

“Then we test it in the field.”

“That’s what I said.” Mira’s grin was sharp. “She called me reckless.”

“What did you say?”

“I said ‘thank you.'”

Jace shook his head, but the corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re going to get us killed with that attitude one day.”

“One day, maybe. But not today. Today we’re going north to answer a bell that’s been ringing for three hundred years.” She picked up her pack, slung it over her shoulder. “That’s pretty good for a rogue who started this series picking pockets in Rogue’s Alley.”

He caught her arm before she could leave. “Mira.”

She stopped, looking back.

“Thank you,” he said. “For being here. For being ready. For — ” He paused, searching for words that didn’t sound inadequate. “For making this feel possible.”

Her ears went pink. She cleared her throat. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it. I’m only here for the cold-weather fashion.”

She disappeared out the door before he could see her blush deepen.


[Due to length, the full first chapter continues on the next page… but you can read the complete book on Amazon now!]

Read the Full Book on Amazon (Kindle Unlimited)


Continue the Adventure

Book 1: Starter Dungeon

Book 2: Desert Raid

Book 3: Sky Tower

Book 4: Ice Labyrinth — Available now on Amazon (Kindle Unlimited)

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Level Up Harem Book 3: Sky Tower — Read the First Chapter

Sky Tower

Level Up Harem — Book 3

By Machine George

Sky Tower

The desert floor is a memory. The Sky Tower is real.

Beneath the Scarab Colossus arena, the Architects left a gift — an elevator to a tower that pierces the clouds. Jace and his party rise through the clouds toward a spire built by ancient Architects. Below them: sand. Above them: a trial that will change everything.

The Sky Tower tests more than combat skills. It tests timing, trust, and the willingness to catch someone before they fall into the void. New allies join the climb — including a golem librarian who has spent four centuries cataloging data, about to learn what it means to feel.

New characters join the party:

  • Ivy — Golem librarian with crystal-encrusted skin and glowing runic eyes

Read on Amazon (Kindle Unlimited)


Chapter 1 — Dawn Ascent

The elevator platform thrummed beneath Jace’s boots like a living heartbeat, the concentric rings of Architect alloy spinning in precise counter-rotation as they lifted away from the desert floor. Dawn’s first light had barely brushed the dunes when they activated the Sun-Dial Keystone, yet the sky above already burned with pink-gold streaks reflected in the platform’s protective field. Sand still clung to his cloak hem; heat still smoldered in the back of his throat. But the Tower’s hum filled his lungs with thin, electric air, and he knew they were leaving the desert’s rules behind.

He’d spent the final hour before launch pacing their base’s kitchenette, checking and rechecking every strap and rune. Sand Anchors polished. Shield bracers inspected. Spare keystone fuses tucked into Mira’s side pouch. Tamsin’s latest “favor” lay in his pack—a set of resonance sensors the dwarf had insisted he install somewhere highly illegal. Jace had told her he’d see what he could do. He’d also stood before the map wall as it pulsed with the Spire glyph, promising the room, the shrine candles, even the cheeky tea kettle that he’d bring the team back.

“Grip the outer rail with your left hand, keep your right palm flat on the keystone bracket,” he instructed, pitching his voice to carry over the rings’ vibration. “If turbulence hits, we anchor to the center pillar before we even think about drawing steel. Mira, you’re on humor detail. Nadiya, ears open for harmonic shifts. Elara—”

“Already monitoring the rune glow,” Elara said, her palm pressed to the keystone’s upper disc. The light in the carved glyphs pulsed in time with her steady breathing, a hymn under her breath braiding with the elevator’s own song.

Mira leaned over the rail with the exuberance of a cat spying a new rooftop. “Jace, if I fall, you’re catching me.”

“You’re tethered,” he reminded her, nodding to the braided harness line that connected each of them to the central column. “And if that fails, I’m catching you.”

“Perfect.” Mira flashed a grin that could have coaxed a statue into a smile. “I live to give you heart attacks.”

Nadiya’s tail bristled beneath her cloak as she peered through her sand goggles. The fennec’s ears tracked every shift in the elevator’s pitch, swiveling like twin radar dishes. “Wind shear coming from port,” she said. “I can hear it bending around the field. Should be mild, but the next gust ten breaths out is going to slap hard.”

Jace adjusted his stance, widening his footing on the grooved metal to offset the predicted hit. “On my count. Three… two… brace.”

The field flared as the gust struck, shimmering in a lattice of teal and gold. The elevator tilted a fraction before the counter-rotation corrected, but none of them stumbled. Jace exhaled through his nose, the disciplined calm he’d forged in the Scarab’s arena settling over him. They had beaten sandstorms, mimic doors, corrupted treants, and smug nobles. They’d earned a place on this platform. He wouldn’t let the first crosswind shake that.

Below them the desert unspooled like an endless scroll, dunes stretching to the horizon in reddish-gold waves carved by the night’s wind. The oasis where they had camped with the Glass Jackals was already a glimmering shard of green swallowed by distance. In the east, the sun crested the ridge, turning every dune crest into a ribbon of fire.

“I can’t see the Bright Lances,” Mira said, shading her eyes. “Maybe the Tower ate them for breakfast.”

Jace squinted toward the southern dunes. For a heartbeat he caught the glimmer of a glide wing catching the sun, then it vanished behind a cloud of illuminated sand. Whether it belonged to Torvy or some other opportunist, he couldn’t tell.

“Or they launched from another Waypoint,” Jace said without humor. He’d seen the glide barges, the way Torvy’s crew hustled every contact to get their own route skyward. “Stay ready in case their rigs cross ours.”

The keystone’s outer ring chimed, and Elara’s eyes widened. “There’s a status ping,” she said. “It’s acknowledging we passed the safe-altitude threshold.”

A line of text scrolled across the inner field, luminous letters hovering above the keystone’s surface. Jace read it aloud.

[SYSTEM] Destination Locked: Waypoint Spire — SKY TOWER.

Hearing the Tower speak their destination out loud shivered through him. This wasn’t a rumor on the map wall or a projection in Tamsin’s shop. It was real, and the system itself now escorted them.

Mira bounced once on her toes, then forced herself still when the platform wobbled. “All right, I admit it. We might actually be doing this.”

“‘Might’?” Elara teased, her copper hair whipping in the updraft. She tightened the tie at the end of the braid she shared with Mira—a symbolic knot they’d started wearing during the Scarab raid. “I’m already preparing to log a new hymn for the Shrine.”

Nadiya leaned closer to Jace, her voice just audible over the hum. “Do you hear them?” she whispered. “It’s like… curves of sound. Different than sandstorms. More mathematical.”

He listened harder. Beneath the mechanical whirr he heard something else: sustained chords that oscillated around a steady center, rising pitch as they ascended. Not random. Structured. “I hear them,” he said. “Harmonics tied to altitude, maybe? If you notice a key change, call it out. Could mean the Tower wants us centered.”

Nadiya nodded, cheeks flushed with excitement and terror in equal measure. “Understood.”

As the platform rose higher, the desert blurred into color bands, and thin clouds drifted past, leaving streaks of cold moisture on the field. Jace reached out to touch the condensation, rubbing it between his fingers. It evaporated instantly, leaving a tingle. The air grew sharper, tasting of ozone. Each breath filled his lungs like drinking from a chilled metal cup.

“We should catalog symptoms,” Elara said, slipping into healer mode. “Altitude adjustments can sneak up on us. Headaches, dizziness, shortness of breath—”

“I’ll keep a pulse on oxygen,” Jace said. “If anyone feels woozy, we rotate positions every ten minutes.”

Mira flipped her goggles onto her forehead, squinting upward. “I can finally see it.”

He followed her gaze. The Sky Tower had looked like a mirage from the desert—an impossible needle glinting on the horizon. Up close it dominated the sky, a pale spire that pierced the highest clouds, its surface rippling with iridescence as if made from overlapping scales of light. Terraces spiraled around it at irregular intervals, studded with crystalline balconies and gardens that somehow clung to the Tower’s skin. The elevator shaft they rode tracked along one of these terraces, aiming for a docking ring that jutted from the Tower like an open hand.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” Elara said, awe softening her features.

“And dangerous,” Jace added. “Don’t forget dangerous.”

Nadiya’s ears flattened. “I’m not forgetting.”

Elara reached across the narrow gap between them and squeezed Nadiya’s glove. “We already outpaced Sir Halwen’s sabotage, Syl’s blight, and a Scarab that thought we were snacks. The Tower can test us, but it doesn’t get to define us.”

Jace watched the Tower grow larger, the docking ring now a massive circular bay rimmed with runic pylons. Energy flares danced between the pylons, shifting in rhythmic pulses that reminded him of beating wings. The keystone’s hum synchronized with the pylons as they approached; he could feel the vibrations aligning in his teeth.

“Okay,” he said. “Docking plan, repeat it.”

“We stay clipped into the inner column until the field drops and the platform locks,” Mira replied.

“Elara extends Shine the moment the field thins, to smooth the connection,” Elara added.

“Nadiya keeps listening,” Nadiya said. “If the harmonic key shifts suddenly, we brace.”

“I step onto the dock first, shield up, scan for hostiles,” Jace finished. “If the Tower sends constructs, we don’t attack unless we’re attacked. We’re guests until proven otherwise.”

Mira rolled her shoulders. “Or until someone decides we’re loot.”

He allowed a ghost of a smile. “Then we remind them what happens when they try to take what’s ours.”

The docking ring flared brighter, and the elevator slowed, the concentric rings easing to a smooth glide. The protective field around the platform thinned, wind rushing in with a shrill cry like flutes. Elara raised both hands and cast Shine, a soft golden sheen that rippled outward, meeting the Tower’s field and calming its turbulence. The keystone warmed beneath Jace’s palm. He felt it question him—an intuition rather than words.

“It wants authorization,” he said quietly. “Hands in.”

Each of them placed a hand on the keystone’s rim, forming a circle. Jace let the memory of the Scarab arena fill him—how they’d stood back-to-back, trusting each other to watch the blind angles. When the keystone’s warmth spiked, he added the image of Syl’s grove, of the kitchenette they’d built, of evenings laughing over burnt stew. The platform shuddered once, then glided into the docking bay as if sliding into a sheath.

Mechanical locks clamped around the elevator’s edges, anchoring it to the Tower, and the protective field dissipated entirely. Cold air rushed in, sharp enough to sting. The platform’s rings slowed until they stopped with a resonant chime. For a heartbeat there was only silence.

Then a segment of the docking ring’s wall liquefied, flowing outward to form an archway. Light spilled from within, tinted soft blue.

“We’re invited in,” Elara breathed.

“Or lured,” Nadiya whispered.

“Either way, we go forward,” Jace said. He unclipped himself from the column, testing the gravity. It was lighter than in the desert but still pulled enough to keep them grounded. He slid his shield off his back, the familiar weight reassuring, and stepped toward the archway. “Stay behind me until we know what’s on the other side.”

Mira clicked her tongue. “Captain commanding again. Got it.”

They descended the ramp that extended from the platform to the docking ring floor. The material looked like marble but felt like warm, resilient metal beneath their boots. As they approached the archway, the light inside shifted, forming lines that pulsed in time with their footsteps.

“It’s sensing our cadence,” Elara said. “Jace, do you hear that chord? It matches the resonance hum from the elevator but a step higher.”

Jace listened. She was right: the Tower’s hum had moved from a calm C to a curious D. A question chord. “Acknowledged,” he murmured. “We’ll answer once we’re inside.”

The archway widened, revealing a corridor lined with translucent panels. Shadows moved beyond the panels like slow currents in water. The air carried the scent of ozone and something green—impossible at this altitude, yet there it was, fresh and alive.

Jace paused on the threshold, glancing at each of his companions.

Elara met his gaze with steady warmth. “We’re ready.”

Mira spun a dagger in her fingers with theatrical nonchalance, but her eyes gleamed with determination. “Let’s see what’s on the menu today.”

Nadiya exhaled slowly, ears forward. “I’ve never heard anything like this, but I’m with you.”

He nodded, then stepped through the archway. The corridor beyond curved gently upward, lit by lines of light embedded in the floor. The translucent panels showed glimpses of the open sky, the desert far below blurred into abstract colors. Tiny motes drifted through the air, glowing faintly. They floated past Jace’s face and brushed his cheek like inquisitive insects before darting away.

“Constructs?” Mira whispered.

Elara extended a hand, letting a mote hover above her palm. “Observers, I think. Curious but not hostile.”

Nadiya turned her head, listening. “There’s a harmonic swell ahead. Something large.”

Jace advanced slowly. “Stay alert.”

They rounded the corridor’s bend and entered a circular chamber. At its center floated a construct shaped roughly like a humanoid, composed of liquid metal that rippled with inner light. Its head was an oval with a single band of light that pulsed in rhythm with the Tower’s hum. It hovered inches above the floor, arms extended to either side as if balancing unseen scales.

The construct rotated to face them, the light band brightening. It raised an arm and gestured toward the chamber’s far door, which remained sealed.

“I think,” Elara said slowly, “it wants us to follow.”

Mira rested her daggers against her thighs. “Or it wants to lead us into a pit. Hard to tell with faceless metal monks.”

Jace tightened his grip on his shield. “If it meant to attack, it would have done so already. Step carefully and keep formation. If it gestures again, we mirror. Respect is the safer play.”

The construct glided forward. Jace led the group after it, staying two paces back. As they approached the far door, the construct’s light band dimmed, and a glyph appeared above the door’s surface: three interlocking triangles—a symbol he’d studied in Ivy’s notes back at the base. Precision. The first trial.

“This is it,” he murmured. “Trial of Precision is right through here.”

Mira’s tail flicked beneath her cloak. “Already? No lobby snacks? No gift shop?”

“We just ate,” Elara said with a soft laugh.

Nadiya ran her fingers along the door’s edge. “The harmonics match the elevator’s initial key. It’s like the Tower wants to see if we can maintain rhythm.”

The air itself shimmered as a new line of text scrolled above the glyph.

[SYSTEM] Trial of Precision — threshold acknowledged. Adjacency formation advised.

The glyph pulsed once, acknowledging their presence.

“Noted,” Mira said. “Now it’s official.”

Jace centered himself. “All right. Before we trigger it, status check. Everyone breathing steady?”

Elara nodded. “Steady. Mana reserves full.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Mira said. “Ankle’s tight but functional.”

Nadiya flexed her fingers. “Hands are sweating. That means yes.”

Jace lifted his shield, then placed his palm on the glyph. “We tackle whatever’s in there together. No heroics. No overextending. We’ve built this far by being smarter than the dungeon, not flashier.”

The glyph flared, and the door dissolved into light. Beyond lay a vast chamber, its floor segmented into geometric patterns that shifted and rotated even as he watched. Suspended above the floor were ornate mechanical arms tipped with blades and weighted spheres, their movements synchronized like the gears of a clock.

Mira whistled. “Precision indeed.”

Elara’s eyes danced with a mix of dread and thrill. “The Tower isn’t easing us in.”

Nadiya’s ears flattened again. “I can hear the timing. It’s like a song with missing beats. We’ll have to fill them.”

Jace stepped across the threshold. “Then we fill them. Formation: Beginner’s Band adjacency. Mira left, Elara right, Nadiya behind. I’ll call cadence. Trust the Call is live, but we only spend it when necessary. The Tower is watching.”

As the door sealed shut behind them, he felt the Tower’s hum intensify, the resonance pressing against his skin like a second heartbeat. They’d left the desert behind. Now the Sky Tower was watching every step.

The floor shifted immediately, hex tiles rotating to expose mirrored facets while others sank, turning the arena into a kinetic puzzle. Overhead, the mechanical arms began tracing concentric paths, weighted spheres whistling through the air with bone-breaking promise. Somewhere within the gears, a metronome ticked—a soft click-click-click that dared them to miss a beat.

Jace inhaled, tasting metal and anticipation. He glanced at each of his companions: Elara’s eyes bright with focus, Mira already prowling to the left, Nadiya listening as if she could hear the next tile flip before it happened. Trust. That was their greatest resource here.

“Let’s make it worth the show,” he said, and led his family into the Trial of Precision.


Continue the Adventure

Book 1: Starter Dungeon

Book 2: Desert Raid

Book 3: Sky Tower — Available now on Amazon (Kindle Unlimited)

Book 4: Ice Labyrinth

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Level Up Harem Book 2: Desert Raid — Read the First Chapter

Desert Raid

Level Up Harem — Book 2

By Machine George

Desert Raid

Sand. Steel. Stamina.

The guild reward wasn’t gold or gear—it was a Rare Crafting Schematic. The kind that could upgrade their entire party’s equipment tier. But to get it, Jace and his party need to cross the Ash Wastes, survive the antlion sinks, and reach the Obsidian Gate before time expires.

A fennec fox-kin guide with enormous ears and sand goggles joins the team. A rival party with clean sashes and dirty tactics wants the same prize. And somewhere in the heart of the wastes, a Scarab Colossus is waiting that will push them further than they’ve ever gone.

New characters join the party:

  • Nadiya — Fennec fox-kin scout with ears that read wind shifts

Read on Amazon (Kindle Unlimited)


Chapter 1 — Rent, Sand, Resolve

Jace tipped the clay jar and let the last of their coin clatter onto the scarred table. Ten silvers. Fourteen coppers. One foreign bit with a hole in it that no scribe would take without a story. The jar made a hollow sound when he set it down—like a bowl that remembered soup.

“Rent by fifth-bell tomorrow,” Mira said, perched on the windowsill with her knees to her chest, tail flicking an argument with gravity. “Landlord’s eye twitched when he said it. He’s practicing saying late fee in the mirror.”

“We pay him,” Elara said, calm as ever, “or we move our bedrolls to the roof and pretend it’s a blessing.”

Jace stacked the silvers into two careful towers and stared past them at the city—Starfall stretched all the way to the gulf, roofs like scales, alleys full of traffic and intentions. “We won’t earn rent in the training yard.”

“Then we take a board job,” Mira said. “Something with teeth. Teeth pay better.”

Elara’s mouth softened. “Teeth bleed.”

“Not if we use our heads,” Jace said, and pushed back from the table. “Board first. Bench after. If Tamsin’s feeling generous, we borrow a sand kit.”

They stepped into heat that had the manners to be honest. The sun already tanned the day hard. Market calls rang out, gulls argued law with the fishermen, and incense smoke from the Warm Hand shrine curled through it all like a dropped and forgotten ribbon.

The guild hall kept its cool by being stubborn about shade. Scribes nested behind tall desks. A watcher-stone watched the door the way old cats watch mice: with contempt that didn’t rule out affection. The posting board held its square of the world—a riot of parchment under little brass nails.

Mira slid to it first. “Purse-cutter,” she called softly, skimming past the low-coin jobs and the laughable “honor” quests.

Jace joined her shoulder to shoulder. Elara hovered a pace back, fingers warm on his arm in that absent way she had when reading more than ink.

There it was, near the center: clean handwriting, a quick sketch of a salt-glass crowned grove.

DESERT RAID (E)
Oasis glade spirit reports theft of heart-seed by ruin-scavvers.
Recover and return intact.
Non-lethal engagement preferred by local shrine.
Reward: twenty-five silver + boon.
Route: South Gate → Dune Spines → Whispering Grove.
Hazards: antlion sinks; sun-beam corridors; glass wasps; hive galleries.

“Oh, I like it,” Mira said, voice gone low and pleased, like a cat spotting a new high shelf. “Ruin, puzzles, things that bite your ankles.”

Elara touched the line about non-lethal and nodded. “If the spirit asked, someone at the Warm Hand will be listening to see if we honor the request.”

Jace read it twice, imagining the dunes and their special treachery. Heat pressure on lungs, sand that loved you until it didn’t, a ruin’s logic. “E-rank coin, but enough to stop our landlord from being brave. And a boon.”

Mira tapped the corner with one claw. “And rivals. Look—ink’s still wet where someone pried this up and nailed it back. Bright Lances fingers. They like their ‘salvage writs’ more than spirits do.”

As if summoned by the insult, a familiar profile in a too-clean sash slid into his periphery. Torvy of the Bright Lances wore the smile of a man who owned a mirror and consulted it before telling the truth.

“Looking above your weight, Jace?” Torvy drawled. His scribe—thin, pinched, ink-splotched—hovered a pace behind like a shadow that wrote itself.

Mira’s grin turned bright and carnivorous. “Hello, cloth-belt. Find your courage yet, or is your scribe holding it in a jar?”

Elara’s fingers tightened once on Jace’s arm. He took the warning and stepped forward half an inch, enough to put his shadow between Torvy and his people.

“We’re reading,” Jace said.

Torvy made a show of looking bored at the board. “Ah. The sand trifle. Don’t worry. We’ll be gentle with the grove. As gentle as the law requires.”

“The law requires you to respect a spirit’s terms,” Elara said, pleasant—which with Elara meant dangerous in about six heartbeats. “Non-lethal is written clearly.”

The scribe sniffed. “Non-binding suggestion.”

Elara tilted her head. “Only if your conscience is.”

Torvy’s eyes flicked to the corner of the posting where the reward glinted in neat ink. “Twenty-five,” he mused. “You’ll need it.” He let his gaze slide to Jace’s knuckles, still scarred from last week’s training, and waited for Jace to react.

Jace didn’t. He’d learned to spend openings, not trades of insult. “We’ll take it,” he said instead, lifting the parchment free.

Torvy’s smile thinned. “See you in the dunes,” he said, and turned, scribe in tow, like a man who had managed to win by leaving the room.

Mira made an inelegant suggestion with three fingers.

“Later,” Jace said.

She made an elegant echo of the same suggestion with her tail and laughed. “Later,” she agreed.

He took the parchment to the clerk, a lamplight of a woman who’d been watching the exchange with eyes that counted more than coin. “We accept,” he told her.

She dotted a line with neat precision. “Jot your party and mark that you’ve read the non-lethal clause.”

“Jace,” he said.

“Mira,” Mira said, leaning over to steal the clerk’s quill with a flourish.

“Elara,” Elara said, adding a tiny sun symbol by her name that no scribe would dare rub out.

The clerk read them once, then twice. Perhaps the names arranged themselves into a pattern she liked. “You’ll want a Silence Chime for the grove if that dryad’s the kind that hears more than speech,” she said. “And sand anchors, if you mean to cross antlion bowls without ending up on the menu.”

“Bench,” Jace said. “Tamsin?”

“She’s watering a temper this morning,” the clerk said, “but she’ll trade it for metal. Stamp here.”

A cold chime ticked at the back of Jace’s head. It felt like a decision sealing.

[SYSTEM] Quest Accepted: Desert Raid (E) — Recover heart-seed (intact). Engage non-lethal where possible.
[SYSTEM] Travel Advisory: Heat — stamina regen reduced; hydration rites recommended.

Elara’s eyes unfocused for a breath. She always heard the chime differently—more hymn than bell. “Warm Hand can grant a small rite,” she said, already deciding which verse might persuade passage. “We’ll want to carry blessed water and make offerings if we take from the ruin.”

“Take little,” Jace said. “We need sand anchors more than souvenirs.”

Mira hooked her arm through his as they stepped away from the board, a casual intimacy that felt like luck bumping into him and deciding to stay. “Gear first,” she said. “Then you can shout at the sun about stamina and pace until it blushes.”

He smiled despite himself. “I don’t shout. I brief.”

“You brief like a sermon,” she said. “Elara’s the priest. You’re the shield.”

“If you two are done,” Elara said dryly, “perhaps we collect tools before Torvy buys them all.”

They crossed the hall toward Tamsin’s bench—a cramped kingdom of springs, straps, and ideas she hadn’t been paid for yet. Tamsin herself hammered a rivet with the patience of someone pretending to have it. Leather apron, hair pinned back, goggles perched on her head like a crown she refused to admit she liked.

“If you’re paying me in compliments, turn around,” she said without looking up.

“Paying in coin and gratitude,” Mira said sweetly. “You like one and mistrust the other.”

Tamsin set the hammer down. “Desert kit. I can smell the posting ink on you.” Her gaze snagged on the parchment in Jace’s hand, reading it all without moving her eyes. “Silence Chime, three sand anchors, sun-hoods, dust veils, dune-cooled cloaks if I’ve got them in your sizes. You’re late.”

“Guild clerk said you had a temper to water,” Jace said.

“I watered it,” Tamsin said. “It grew.”

Mira laughed. Elara laid two silvers on the bench—the kind that held more value for their honesty than their weight. “We’ll bring you a rune plate sample if the ruin’s kind,” she said. “You can polish your temper against it.”

Tamsin’s mouth twitched. Not a smile, but the seed of one. “Rune plate? Don’t overharvest. Dryads hold opinions. But if you find a broken panel, I’ll turn it into knee-baffles and make you famous among people who care about knees.”

“Jace cares about knees,” Mira said. “He collects them. Left, right, his, not-his.”

Tamsin slid a tray forward. Three small brass chimes strung with thin silk cords rang almost imperceptibly when Jace lifted them. “Hold this under your tongue if you’re negotiating with a spirit that hears your pulse,” she said. “It softens intent. Doesn’t lie, doesn’t silence you. It just… makes your breath sound like respect.”

Elara handled one as if it might take offense and found the cord’s notch without looking. “Blessings on the hands that make useful things,” she said.

“Blessings on the hands that return them unbroken,” Tamsin replied, deadpan, though her eyes warmed a fraction. “Sand anchors,” she continued, sliding three bronze heads and a length of rope across. “Bite them into the rim, give the line a song, and don’t argue with physics.”

“Physics is rude,” Mira said. “We never argue. We just step aside while it falls down the stairs.”

Jace counted coin. The towers he’d stacked back at the room came apart here, as they always did. Rent had a voice; gear had a louder one. He left the bench lighter and felt better for it.

On the way out, the clerk leaned over her desk. “South gate winds are shifting,” she said. “Dust tells calm, but the gulls say cross-shear by afternoon. If you’re marching, march now.”

“Gulls gossip,” Mira said.

“Gulls see,” the clerk countered.

They took the warning. Outside, Starfall’s wind carried that knife-edge that comes before the blade. Jace adjusted the pack on his shoulder, checked his shield’s fit, felt the familiar tug in his muscles that meant work was close and welcome.

“Pace,” he said, turning to face them both. Elara already had her veils out—clean white that turned her smile into suggestion. Mira stood with sun-hood tilted, ears slotted through, eyes bright with mischief and something kinder beneath. “We go as we trained. Two sprints, one walk. Drink when the sun marks the shadow to your knuckle. We do not chase rivals. We do not race our own lungs. If I say down, you get low. If Elara says stop, you stop. If Mira says the floor’s lying, you believe her.”

Mira dipped into a theatrical bow. “Sir yes sir,” she said, then ruined it by stepping close, rising on toes to kiss his cheek. “Don’t carry the sun for us, Jace. It has its own legs.”

Elara brushed his other cheek with her fingers, cool as a shrine basin. “We’ll bring you your openings,” she said. “Spend them.”

He swallowed both smile and the knot in his chest it wanted to carry. “We leave now,” he said. “Before Torvy talks himself into sense.”

A small cold ping touched the back of his eye—a ghost of future warnings.

[SYSTEM] Travel Condition primed: Desert Fatigue — Heat drains stamina; shade and hydration rites mitigate.

Elara’s veil fluttered as if hearing the same thing and approving. “I’ll stop at the shrine as we pass,” she said. “Two verses, one bowl. The Warm Hand favors those who speak first and loudest to their own thirst.”

“Make it three verses,” Jace said, thinking of dunes and long walk-backs.

They moved.

South Gate was a mouth that had forgotten how to close. Traders in sand-sleds skidded through, camels blinked their long-lashed indifference, and the guard yawned in a way that implied he defended against boredom, not invasion. Beyond the gate, the world became a grammar of tan and heat and small stubborn plants clinging to their opinions.

By the time the city shrank to a thumb on the horizon, the sand had learned their names. Jace felt it in his calves, shoulders, lungs. The first antlion bowl showed its rim like a smile that didn’t reach the eyes. He pointed. Mira nodded. Elara was already stepping wide.

“Anchor,” he said.

He bit the bronze head into the rim, gave the line a song with his hand, tested the pull. The bowl’s crust sighed a warning, then accepted their weight in the practiced way of traps that prefer to eat without chewing.

“Good sand,” Mira murmured. “Stay asleep.”

They crossed. The wind hushed, then kicked. A whisper rose beneath the crust—the kind of almost-sound Jace had learned to distrust. The world talking in a voice he hadn’t been taught to hear.

He glanced at Mira. She’d frozen in that particular poised way when her body had opinions. Ears high, head cocked a fraction. “Hear that?” she asked, but her mouth said no and her eyes said yes and the hair on his arms agreed with her eyes.

“Nothing,” he said. “Everything.”

“Mm.” She set her foot down one finger’s breadth left, weight easy. The crust under her old footprint caved with a sigh like disappointment. The hole was small. Confidence was smaller. They widened their line and stepped more carefully.

The dunes took them on, one spine at a time. Heat settled over his shoulders like a neighbor who meant well but didn’t understand boundaries. Elara’s voice rose and fell in soft verses that tasted of cool water. Mira hummed a market song about a fishmonger with morals, and Jace laughed—the sound free of counting coins left in jars.

By noon, the whispering grove was a smudge on the horizon, its salt-glass crown catching sun in a way that made his eyes want to blink forever. The ruin showed a low, broken shoulder on the dune beyond, shadow pooled in its mouth.

Rent would be paid. Boons would be asked for politely. Rivals would be handled with proof, not blood.

Jace lifted his hand. The three of them stopped together, like a word ending in agreement.

“Plan,” he said, and saw both sets of eyes sharpen. The city and what it had made of them breathed at their backs. The desert and what it would ask of them breathed in.

“Let’s do it,” Mira said.

He nodded once, felt the weight of shield and the lighter weight of being seen, and started down toward the grove where a spirit waited to ask them what kind of people they were.


Continue the Adventure

Book 1: Starter Dungeon

Book 2: Desert Raid — Available now on Amazon (Kindle Unlimited)

Book 3: Sky Tower

Book 4: Ice Labyrinth

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Level Up Harem Book 1: Starter Dungeon — Read the First Chapter

Starter Dungeon

Level Up Harem — Book 1

By Machine George

Starter Dungeon

Starter town. Starter dungeon. Starter harem. Level up everything.

Jace needs one clean run to eat today. Instead, he walks out with a room deed, two teammates, and a target on his back.

In a world where dungeon delving pays the bills, Jace enters a starter dungeon expecting a simple E-rank payout. What he finds is more than treasure—he finds people. A sunshine-bright healer and a cat-eyed rogue who see something in him worth following. A room deed that changes his status overnight. Enemies who notice his sudden rise and want to tear it all down.

Expect: mimic doors that bite, slime kings that melt steel, rival delvers who want your loot — and your claim. Light system pings. Squad chemistry. A harem that grows through teamwork.

You’ll enjoy this if you love:

  • Found-party vibes (Healer + Rogue + Tactician)
  • Low-noise LitRPG notifications
  • Rivals, claims, and dungeon politics
  • Harem that builds through trust and shared victories

Read on Amazon (Kindle Unlimited)


Chapter 1

The SYSTEM notification that would change everything arrived three seconds before Jace pushed through the guild hall doors.

[SYSTEM] Warning: Anomaly Detected. Dimensional Stability at 97%.

He dismissed it with a blink—probably another glitch. The SYSTEM had been throwing weird errors all week, and he had more immediate problems. Like not starving.

Jace timed the push through the doors so the battered hinges didn’t announce him. It was still early. The air clung to last night’s stale pipe smoke and the bitter tang of overcooked coffee, but the front chamber already hummed with the loose, anxious noise of F- and E-ranks scraping for daywork. He slid past a pair of tiefling siblings arguing in whispers, then skirted the stunted queue at the commission window. The notice board loomed at the far wall, freckled with thumbtack scars and a few faded red droplets—old blood or pen ink, hard to say.

Nobody met his eye. That was protocol. More than one set of adventurer leathers in the room were held together by kitchen string and hope, and it was a courtesy not to catalogue each other’s poverty too closely.

He took a slow tour of the board: the high-value slips, written on thick, cream-colored vellum, had vanished. E-rank and up, gone by dawn, siphoned off by guild lifers and the occasional hotshot with a connection in the clerical staff. The middle row, yellowed and curled, was mostly labor: graveyard weeding, roof repair, some poultry wrangling for a local noblewoman. Not technically “adventuring,” but enough to keep the guild coffers solvent and the entry ranks from outright starvation.

He needed coin, but not that badly yet. Three months of scraping by on F-rank jobs had left him with just enough to cover guild fees and a shared room at the Bent Nail. One bad run—one injury that required healing he couldn’t afford—and he’d be out on the street. Or worse, back home to face his father’s disappointment.

What remained at the bottom were the jobs nobody wanted—dungeon clearances at the edge of city jurisdiction, old family crypts rumored to be “mildly” haunted, beast culling for creatures considered more a nuisance than a threat. Most slips had been manhandled, creased, or annotated in agitated ballpoint by the desperate: “Previously Cleared” or “Perma-Trap @ Rm. 3” or, underlined three times, “Possible NEST.”

He squinted at the last F-rank hanging at a crooked angle:

Site: Mossy Gate Ruins (F)
Req: Standard.
Reward: 12c, per head.
Notes: Party Size Rec. 3. Guild res. status: POOR.

It was undersigned by a scribe whose handwriting had given up at the word “Ruins.” A gunk-stained thumbprint marked the bottom edge.

He heard the scrape of heavy boots behind him and tensed, but the big guy—a half-orc with one tusk and a four-day stubble—didn’t bother with the low-rank slips. Jace angled his shoulder to block the board, just in case. Technically, jobs were first come, first serve, but scraps like these had a way of getting…disputed.

He plucked the Mossy Gate Ruins slip and slipped it into his jacket. It felt like stealing a dare.

At the front desk, the morning clerk yawned into her sleeve. Her badge read “Vina,” and her hair was held up with the same office pens she lent out for paperwork. She only looked up when Jace slid the slip forward. “For Mossy Gate? That one’s still open?” She didn’t hide the surprise, or the doubt.

“Is now,” Jace said. His voice came out too dry. He tamped it down and tried again: “I’ll take it.”

She pursed her lips, ran her finger down a ledger—her nails were stained a deep, unlucky shade of burgundy—and rapped the relevant line. “You’re the first this week, but heads up, site’s considered a health hazard. Multiple previous teams failed to clear.” She ticked a box with her pen, then fixed him with a look. “F-rankers aren’t covered by guild healers. You know that, right?”

He nodded, waiting for the [SYSTEM] flag to slide into the corner of his vision. The SYSTEM—that omnipresent force that governed adventurers’ progression, tracked their achievements, and quantified their bonds—was sometimes slow to update in the morning. When it didn’t appear immediately, he risked a glance up at the old clock above the board: 08:12. The system usually took a minute to catch up, especially for F-ranks like him.

The clerk’s attention wandered to the argument at the commission window, then to her coffee. “You want the form for a partner match, or is this solo?” she asked, not even bothering to fake optimism.

Jace started to say “solo” but hesitated. Technically, it was safer to queue for a party slot. In reality, the pool was so thin that most applicants were ghosts or green kids even more desperate than him.

“Solo,” he said, because the alternative would take another hour, and there was a storm forecast for the afternoon.

She shrugged, stamped the slip, and slid it back. “You get a postmortem bonus if you bring back teeth. And don’t forget to sign out before you leave. If you don’t, admin fees eat your reward.”

Jace signed the form. “Does anyone ever actually get the postmortem bonus?”

She smiled, sharp and tired. “Only if they come back with the teeth.”

He pocketed the stamped slip, making sure it didn’t crease against the battered notebook in his inner coat. One job a week, that was his ration. There were side hustles, of course—odd jobs, scavenging, the occasional guard work for the brewery or the back alley pawn—but the guild kept a close watch on F-ranks, and more than one infraction would land you in the conscript list. He had no interest in city-issue mail and double shifts on the Watch.

The guild hall’s “canteen” (a euphemism for the four mismatched tables under the stairs) was starting to fill. A half-dozen young hopefuls with secondhand gear eyed each other over weak oatmeal. Jace’s stomach reminded him that it was already nearly half a day since he’d eaten. He crossed to the canteen and scanned for any faces he recognized, then found a corner with a clean enough chair.

The Mossy Gate Ruins were at least two tram stops out, maybe a half-day round trip if he walked. He sipped water from the jug at the center of the table, which tasted faintly like pickles and soap. The system ping finally arrived as he wiped the rim:

[SYSTEM] Quest accepted: Mossy Gate Ruins (F). Party size recommended: 3. Current party: 1.

He studied the message until it faded, as if longer contemplation might make the warning less stark.

The second ping was a “Guild Protip” — “If party incomplete, expect elevated risk of loss of life and/or limb. Consult with local clerics for last rites discounts.”

Jace snorted. The guild loved its disclaimers, as if warning you about death somehow absolved them when you didn’t come back. He closed his eyes and let the discomfort settle in his gut like an old friend. Hunger was a form of information, he’d learned—it told you exactly which rules you could afford to break.

He waited until the canteen noise grew, then stood. He could tell, just from the looks of the other rookies, that the only currency anyone respected at this hour was rumor. He picked up the slip again, already thinking about supplies—rope, a half-charged lantern, maybe a short blade if he could pawn his boots for extra coin.

On his way out, the tiefling siblings from before had reached the board, but he caught the side-eye of one of them—a glint of envy, or maybe just recognition that he’d “won” the last round. He tipped a little nod, which was neither challenge nor apology.

The city’s low fog had barely started to lift, and he drew his jacket tight, re-reading the site slip as he walked. The job wasn’t supposed to be dangerous—just cleanup, residual. But if the last three teams hadn’t bothered to finish, odds were good there was something ugly left inside. Or nothing, and it was all wasted effort.

He’d take either, if it paid.

As he passed the alley behind the guild, he slipped the slip from his pocket and looked at the address again. Someone had written, in a hurried, desperate hand, “Ask for payment up front, if you can.” He smirked. Not possible, not for F-rankers, but he liked the sentiment.

He let the slip ride in his coat, and walked toward the tram.

If he hurried, he could make the first run, and maybe—if he was lucky—be back before nightfall.

He didn’t plan on luck. He’d take hunger, or fear, or whatever else got him moving.

He’d even take company, if it meant a better shot at getting out alive. But as he stepped into the drifting city air, his only company was the faint taste of cold metal and the promise that if he made it through, there’d be enough coin for breakfast tomorrow.

That was enough.


Continue the Adventure

Book 1: Starter Dungeon — Available now on Amazon (Kindle Unlimited)

Book 2: Desert Raid

Book 3: Sky Tower

Book 4: Ice Labyrinth

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New Cozy, fast-paced Harem LitRPG. Party up tonight

Starter town. Starter dungeon. Starter harem. Level up everything.

Jace needs one clean run to eat today. Instead, he walks out with a room deed, two teammates, and a target on his back. It’s an F-rank… the kind you clear in borrowed boots. When a sunshine-bright healer and a cat-eyed rogue grab the same quest slip, Jace does the sensible thing: form a party, keep it tidy, don’t die.

Expect: mimic doors that bite, slime kings that melt steel, rival delvers who want your loot—and your claim. Light system pings. Squad chemistry. A harem that grows through teamwork.

If you love dungeon dopamine, cozy, fast-paced runs, and smart plays over stat sticks, you’ll have fun with this one.

You’ll enjoy this if you love:

• Found-party vibes (Healer + Rogue + Tactician)

• Low-noise LitRPG notifications

• Rivals, claims, and dungeon politics

• Harem that builds through trust and shared victories

Grab it on Amazon

Box Set

Starter town. Starter dungeon. Starter harem. Level up everything.

This is the Uncensored, Uncut, Unavoidable edition.

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Meet Mira

Five nights. One vow. The cat-eared rogue who became the heartbeat of Level Up Harem.

Before the desert raids and dungeon runs, there was Mira—small, fast, stubborn, and dangerously principled.

Read Mira’s Story

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Check Out Eudora the Cyborg Influencer’s New Look

New shiny cover. Same erotic shenanigans.

Eudora’s numbers are crashing. One week she’s the hottest cyborg on the feed; the next, sponsors vanish and followers swipe past without a glance.

Desperate to claw her way back, she’s offered a radical new prosthetic—one nobody else on the Net has seen. The catch?
• The upgrade costs far more than she’ll ever earn.
• Her best friend keeps pushing her to do it anyway.
• Installing it will rewrite everything she is, on-screen and off.

If Eudora finds the money, she might own the trend cycle again.
If she hesitates, her channel dies for good.
Either way, the moment she says yes, the life she knows is over.

Fame has a price. Identity is the payment
Read Cyber Girls · Book 1 Now
for Free at https://mythographystudios.com/books/futagen/

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Binge-Worthy Reads: The Very Best Greek and European Sci-Fi From the Last Decade

5 Selected Greek Titles in an article by Iphaistion Khristopoulos

Unborn Brothers by Michalis Manolios (Αγέννητοι Αδελφοί/Μιχάλης Μανωλιός) 2014

A near-future science fiction novel in Manolios’s characteristic style, it touches upon the possibility of implanting multiple artificial personalities (the titular unborn brothers) in a single person. There are three central characters we follow—the scientist who has invented the technology, a world-renowned musician and an assassin—all of which, interestingly enough for a male author, are women. However, there’s actually an abundance of characters in the book, all of which distinct from each other, as we watch each person’s unborn brothers emerge from their subconscious and take control.

It’s a demanding, complex and sometimes brutal novel, full of human drama and difficult dilemmas—a typical trait of the author, who likes placing his characters in situations where all possible outcomes are disastrous or unethical.

Michalis Manolios was born in 1970. He has released four books, two short story collections and two novels, including the one mentioned above. As far as I know, there’s one more short story collection coming in 2020. His story “Aethra” won the Aeon Award in in 2010. His works have been translated into English and Italian and, recently, Filipino.

Exiled Faces by P.M. Zervos (Η Εξορία του Προσώπου/ Π.Μ. Ζερβός) 2017

A short horror novel situated in Athens’s sister city, Piraeus. It’s in a sense the chronicle of a man’s descend into madness, starting with a terrifying dream. The story unfolds in the duration of one year. The nameless narrator keeps having the same nightmare every night at midnight. Soon he finds out that the same happens to the rest of the residents of his building, resulting even in the death of some. Later in the year, the nightmares stop, but an insatiable hunger for food and sex takes their place, which incites extreme behaviours, followed by a period of abject apathy. And so the story unfolds during the four seasons of the year, till we reach a state of normalcy that seems even more terrifying than the previous states of nervous collapse.

It is a strange allegorical book that makes use of the tropes of the horror genre to address the problems and struggles of modern man.

P. M Zervos was born in 1972 and lives in Piraeus. He has published short stories and essays in magazines and anthologies and has also translated some H. P. Lovecraft stories into Greek. A distinctive characteristic of his writing is his use of polytonic orthography, as opposed to the monotonic orthography which was introduced in 1982 and is the official Greek writing system ever since.

The Sons of Ash Trilogy by Eleftherios Keramidas (Οι Γιοι της Στάχτης/ Ελευθέριος Κεραμίδας) 2010

This is an epic trilogy in a pseudo-Byzantine environment. The first volume was published in 2010 by a major Greek publishing house, and later it was reissued in a revised edition, along with the rest of the trilogy, by a different publisher. It is essentially the story of a failing empire, full of court intrigue, magical human and non-human creatures, featuring impressive battle tactics and even a twisted but familiar version of Orthodox Christianity. The story starts with the son of an almighty wizard who tries to thwart his father’s plans, a youth raised in a monastery who finds out he has some special powers and the minister of a demented emperor who tries to manipulate the empire’s politics. The kingdom’s future seems to somehow depend on their actions.

An impressive amount of historical research has gone into this one, and, despite the abundance of characters and names, it’s quite easy to follow and keeps you turning the pages. It is also linguistically very interesting, as the author uses a fair amount of Byzantine terms along with his own made-up archaic words to recreate the atmosphere of a bygone era.

Eleftherios Keramidas was born in 1977 in Ithaca. Said trilogy is his first publication. Before that, some of his short stories had been included in sff anthologies.

Imaginative Stories by Various (ΕΦΦάνταστες Ιστορίες) 2013

First of all, please ignore the fact that there’s one of my own stories in this one. This is by no means the reason I’m including it. This is an anthology comprising short stories from the Science Fiction Club of Athens’s (ALEF) writers’ workshop. The works included are a selection of the best stories presented to the workshop between the years 2005 and 2012. Some of the writers were already established authors with published works, while for others it was their first time in print. The majority of the stories are science fiction, but there are also a few touches of horror or magical realism, and there’s a diversity in topic and style.

The book includes stories by: Giannis Papadopoulos, Panagiotis Koustas, Stamatis Stamatopoulos, Hedwig-Maria Karakouda, Spyros Kintzios and Angela-Lu Petrou, Nektarios Chryssos, Kelly Theodorakopoulou, Christina Malapetsa, Kostas Charitos, Michalis Manolios, Vasso Christou, Teti Theodorou, Hephaestion Christopoulos.

The Science Fiction Club of Athens has been around since 1998. The writers’ workshop takes place twice a year and this is the second anthology coming out of it. It is open to both experienced and first-time authors.

Desert and Fog by Christina Malapetsa (Έρημος και Ομίχλη/ Χριστίνα Μαλαπέτσα) 2015

A book consisting of two medium-length novels set in the author’s fantasy universe. The writer herself describes it as “two character-oriented fantasy stories about duty, morals and free will. Also daddy issues.” The first story pertains to a city beset by a curse that causes water shortage.. The situation is dire, so the city’s ruler decides to ask a neighbouring city for help. It is quite a straightforward fantasy story, but with a consistent worldbuilding and some impressive ideas. The second one is an eerie tale about two female adventurers who land on a bizarre island country inhabited by some not quite human creatures and try to understand the rules of their society. This one is the more magical of the two, full of little and larger details about an imaginary society and species.

Christina Malapetsa lives in Stockholm. Short stories of hers have appeared in anthologies, and Desert and Fog is her first book. Both stories were initially written for a NaNoWriMo challenge, and were later reworked and revised.

Sadly, none of the above titles have been translated in English yet. If you really wanna read some of them, leave a comment on this post so we can gauge interest.

You can read the entire article and find more European spec-fic titles here.