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A trend I’ve noticed in progression fantasy series is that often the main way that people get stronger is by killing stuff. This is pretty common in LitRPG’s where killing living things to get their experience points is the way to level up. Even when there are other methods of leveling up, killing things will still be the most effective way of getting stronger. This can culminate in series where the protagonist either literally or metaphorically “devours” others to gain their strength.

Power from death is a fairly basic idea to the point where most people don’t even question it. The idea of getting experience and level grinding probably came from video games and RPG’s where it’s the most common method of leveling up the player character. In a way, it can be rather silly that killing fifty bears lets you level up your charisma stat, but that’s just kind of how it goes. Non-LitRPG series usually have some other justification for why killing things makes someone stronger such as eating souls, absorbing mana, or gaining the favor of gods through sacrifice.

Sometimes it’s not necessarily killing opponents that brings power. I’ve read cultivation series where it’s the experience of fighting in actual life or death scenarios that pushes someone to become stronger. There might be a magic reason such as the soul forcing itself to grow when in danger or it could be that a dangerous situation forces a character to improvise and try new things. The character might have a dangerous technique that they’ve been struggling to master, but now they have no choice other than to use it. It might also just be the case that practical experience always provides a unique learning opportunity that training and sparring can’t compare to.

Something that doesn’t come up too often in these kinds of series is the ethics of killing things purely so that someone can grow stronger. This is especially so since often it is all living things, including humans, that can be killed for strength. Some series acknowledge the moral implications by having more villainous characters be indifferent to whether their experience points come from people or monsters while heroes stick with monsters. They can also show how gray a protagonist’s morality is by having them also not be particularly concerned about the fact that their strength comes from murder.   

On big advantage for this method of growing stronger is that it can provide justification for a protagonist who advances rapidly compared to others. In these types of settings, stronger monsters and people provide more experience towards leveling up. It’s common for protagonists to have to fight enemies that outclass them in various ways and have to figure out a way to come out of a highly dangerous situation. This allows the protagonist to get stronger much faster than what is expected without even needing to give them some special power or talent to justify their rapid growth.

Depending on how its implemented, a strength through killing system can have its downsides. One of which is that this method of getting stronger can feel rather arbitrary, especially if it’s the only method of getting stronger. Some LitRPG’s I’ve read make it so that even if someone’s skill set is based around crafting or healing, they can still only level up by killing monsters or people. It’s rather silly that someone whose class is Tailor has to figure out a way to apply their skills to combat if they want to become a better tailor. I personally prefer it when simply doing tailor related tasks is how you level up such a class.

There is also the issue of things feeling too much like a video game. You can wind up with characters literally level grinding by killing large amounts of weaker enemies and gaining strength that way. This can actually be fine if the goal is to show how people exploit the system to their advantage, but it can also make the setting feel less “real”.

A good example of this kind of murder for power system is the Demonic Devourer series. The protagonist, Evelyn, is a bioweapon with the unique ability to absorb some of the strength of what she kills. This is actually unique in this setting since most people level up by completing quests given to them by the System. Evelyn was essentially designed to be a sociopath with a desire to grow stronger written into her biology. This series does a good job of showing how messed up a person would need to be to enjoy killing people and consuming their strength in a never ending desire to gain levels.

Power through killing is a common way to grow stronger in progression fantasy series. The setting might run off of video game logic or have other justifications for why death makes someone stronger. The end result is often a system where killing things often becomes the main goal for anyone who wants to level up. In general, power through death is a fascinating trope with ethical implications that fit right in with LitRPG’s.

Eldritch abominations are one of my favorite types of monsters. I like it when a monster is inherently “other” in both appearance and behavior. I’m talking about masses of tentacles and eyeballs appearing through a rift in space or a vaguely humanoid entity that on closer inspection has a giant mouth in place of a face. They’re a staple of cosmic horror but can appear in anything with a hint of sci-fi or fantasy.

What sets an eldritch abominations apart from more traditional monsters is the way they break the rules of reality. Lifeforms on Earth don’t have tentacles outside the ocean and eyeballs are usually in a specific spot on the head rather than placed haphazardly across the entire body. These features go against what is considered normal. The uncanny valley can also be a good determiner of an eldritch abomination. Monsters that can be mistaken for human aren’t a thing in real life.

This rule breaking also applies to abilities. A bear can easily kill a human, but it does so with its immense strength and sharp claws which is completely within the realms of what makes sense. However, a bear that kills people because making eye contact with it causes your heart to disintegrate would not be how reality works.

Admittedly, what separates an eldritch abomination and a “normal” supernatural being may be rather arbitrary. All supernatural or magical elements break the accepted reality, but not all do so in the same way. A vampire or werewolf are such well known monsters that their inclusion in a work is almost mundane due to how often they are encountered in media. In this way, familiarity is a major factor that separates eldritch abominations from other magical beings.

A series with good examples of eldritch abominations would be Otherside Picnic. The monsters in this series come from another dimension called the Otherside and take on the forms of monsters from creepypastas and urban legends. The threats include ribbon like creatures that drive you insane when you look at them, an unnaturally tall woman that lures people in by taking the form of a loved one, and mummified monkey corpses surrounded by hovering teeth. At one point the protagonist, Sorawo, is being chased by dogs with human faces and is terrified by the fact that she has no idea what will happen if the dogs catch her. The monsters in Otherside Picnic break the conventional rules for reality and remain distinctly otherworldly even as the protagonist’s understanding of them grows.

Overall, I’d say that eldritch abominations are a unique and interesting type of monster. Their otherworldly nature gives them an edge over more traditional types of monsters in terms of danger and horror. They come in many sanity shattering forms, but their most distinctive trait is the way they break the rules of reality. Eldritch abominations are an aberration that shouldn’t exist.

Humans like to put numbers on things. It’s kind of our whole basis for understanding the world, so it’s not surprising that this trend would apply to fiction as well. In a lot of stories with magic, I’ve noticed a tendency to use numbers to describe how much power someone possesses. They might have a literal level in the case of a LitRPG or something less specific like a human made ranking system.

Power levels differ in terms of accuracy and what aspect of power they refer to. In a LitRPG, levels are usually a very accurate way of measuring someone’s power level since their level is usually a direct measurement of that strength. Power levels become less accurate when assigned by people, usually after taking a test or accomplishing a specific goal. In these scenarios, it’s possible for someone underqualified for a power level to receive that ranking because their powers are uniquely suited for that test while someone overqualified might fail that same test. There may also be a difference in how someone reaches a rank. An S Rank mage would have different strengths and weaknesses compared to an S Rank warrior or rogue.

There are also situations where power levels have discrete jumps between them. Usually, it’s a steady upward trend where the difference between levels 1 and 2 are the same between levels 49 and 50. Other times there are specific thresholds that require someone to do something specific to reach the next level. Reaching level 50 may require a special ritual or trial that specifically raises someone’s strength in a way that makes the jump from 49 to 50 much larger than from levels 1 to 2. This is pretty common in cultivation novels where you have “tribulations” that a cultivator has to go through to reach the next cultivation level.

A big plus when it comes to power levels is that it gives a specific and clear way of tracking a protagonist’s progress when it comes to getting stronger. It also gives a good way of measuring threats. If your level ten hero is suddenly faced with a level one hundred monster then it becomes clear how much danger there is. It can be useful to have a clear way of telegraphing to the audience when they should be worried for the protagonist.

While it does feel nice to be able to put labels on things, there are dangers to relying too much on this trope. A system with discrete power levels can cause fights to turn into a numbers game. This can lead to situations where if a character’s power level isn’t equal or greater than their opponents, it is impossible for them to win.

I’ve also read stories where a protagonist increasing their personal power level becomes the entire point of the series with plot and character taking a back seat. If combined with a situation where levels are the sole determiner of who wins in a fight, this makes a story where the numbers are the only thing that matters. If a character isn’t of a certain power level, they are no longer relevant. It doesn’t matter whether they have useful skills unrelated to fighting. They will, at best, be a supporting character who does useful things off screen.

Power can take on many forms other than someone’s combat ability. Whether its political power, economic power, or social power, there are a lot of different ways of influencing the world. Even within the umbrella of fighting ability there would be a lot of differences in the way someone can fight, especially in a setting with magic. Someone’s high power level could be because they’re a walking tank, a stealthy assassin, or a spell slinging mage. Each of these archetypes would have different strengths and weaknesses and it would be boring to say that a character can do all of these things.

A good example of a series that does power levels well is “Godclads”. The main ways of measuring power in this series are thaums and ghosts. Thaums are used to wield the power of dead gods while ghosts are used for magitech computing/mind hacking. The important thing to note is that when someone dies, they produce one thaum and one ghost. This is a good way of keeping the numbers meaningful. For instance, when someone shows up and the protagonist sees that they have seventy-million thaums it means their magic is powered by seventy-million deaths. Even if you don’t have a frame of reference for the power levels in this series you know that someone powered by that much death is someone to be taken seriously. Also, to provide that reference, someone powered by a thousand thaums would be classified as a weapon of mass destruction.

I also like how “Godclads” makes sure that numbers aren’t everything. The protagonist, Avo, has been able to defeat opponents of a much higher thaum level through things like clever planning, ambushes, and exploiting weaknesses. Fights in this series aren’t determined purely by who has more thaums.

Overall, power levels are an interesting way of quantifying information and can help ground a series. After all, numbers are how humans try to understand the world in real life, so it’s not a surprise that it would be the same in fiction. Audiences also enjoy being able to put labels on otherwise esoteric concepts such as how much magic someone has. There are pitfalls associated with power levels such as focusing too much on the numbers or forgetting that power can come in multiple forms. Power levels are a tool like any other and should be used with skill and care.

The morals of a protagonist have a big effect on the nature of a story. A protagonist can be a compassionate soul whose only purpose in life is to help others and do what’s right, or they could be a sociopath who kills and destroys whatever they come across in pursuit of their goals. There are distinct advantages and disadvantages that appear when a protagonist is good, evil, or something in between.   

On one end of the spectrum are the heroic types. These are individuals with fairly straightforward morals that most humans would generally identify as “good”. Admittedly, my own biases might come into play here since good and evil can vary from culture to culture. What I would consider basic good traits would be things like kindness, compassion, altruism, and trustworthiness. These people risk themselves to protect others. They’re the ones who always keep to their word and refuses to harm people unless absolutely necessary. These protagonists are often, but not necessarily, idealistic folks seeking to make a better world.

It can be nice seeing someone devote themselves to doing what is right even when the situation is dire. The biggest problem is that these protagonists can come off as rather generic. Helping others and doings what’s right can be rather cliché things to strive for and can give the impression that there isn’t much else to the character. I’ve also seen works where writers decide that making a protagonist a good person is a substitute for having an interesting personality or motivations.  At the same time, it can leave me feeling optimistic to see good people striving to make the world a better place and these types of protagonists are easy to root for and sympathize with.

Evil protagonists are arguable more like villain protagonists. They may have one or two redeeming qualities, but nothing that really makes up for the evil they commit. It doesn’t really matter if someone never lies or is polite if they spend all their time murdering people and wearing their skins.

I actually haven’t personally consumed a lot of media featuring evil protagonists. I just have a lot of difficulty following the story of someone truly vile even if they’re up to interesting stuff. There’s always the sense that they should be getting their comeuppance at some point, but it feels rather empty to read an entire story about someone I don’t like purely to see them suffer at the end. There’s also always the possibility that an evil protagonist just gets away with their crimes which feels even worse. If a character doesn’t get punished for doing bad things they need to be likable enough that I don’t mind that fact, but this is particularly difficult with someone who is just straight up evil.

I think that part of the appeal of an evil protagonist is a kind of twisted desire to see the darkest parts of humanity. Perhaps, seeing evil up close and personal gives greater insight into people or it can be kind of cathartic to see someone else doing whatever they want regardless of the consequences. There is a kind of freedom in being evil that can be appealing to see.

Morally ambiguous protagonists tend to include a lot of anti-hero archetypes, but I feel that it is a very broad category. These protagonists can range from mass murderers who only kill bad people to individuals who simply have more self-serving motivations such as making money or simple survival. Morally ambiguous protagonists definitely have a lot more spice to them and are arguably truer to real life since most humans have a mixture of good and bad traits.

A downside of a morally ambiguous protagonist is that it can be annoying not knowing what label to put on them. Should I be rooting for this person or wishing for their downfall? I’ve personally experienced situations where I was doing both and it made me very uncomfortable which was probably the writer’s intention. There is also the possibility of a misfire. The writer intended for a protagonist to be morally ambiguous when in reality they’re just a hero who sometimes litters or a villain who occasionally recycles. There’s an attempt to play around with morality and add complexity, but it simply doesn’t work and the failure weakens the story as a whole.

My personal favorite variation on morally ambiguous protagonists is when they’re naturally inclined towards being evil and must fight against their own nature in order to do what is right. A good example would be the protagonist, John Cleaver, from “I Am Not a Serial Killer”. John is a sociopath with a lot of sadistic fantasies about murder and torture. He keeps these impulses at bay by having strict rules he follows, but has trouble sticking to these rules when an actual serial killer shows up in town and he’s the only one that can stop them. He does everything he can to do what’s right even when it makes him miserable. I like how it reminds me that people don’t need to have a pure and virtuous mind to be a good person. 

The morality of a protagonist does a lot to shape a story. Good protagonists can be inspiring to watch, but can run into the trap of being generic. Evil protagonists can offer insight into the darker side of humanity, but lack sympathetic qualities. Morally ambiguous protagonists have an extra layer of complexity although they can be difficult to pull off. No matter what the morality of a protagonist it is important to keep their morals in mind and use them to enhance the story as a whole.

            I’ve noticed a trend in anime and web novels of having a protagonist who is overpowered. This power is most commonly related to fighting ability. Through either magic or martial might, the protagonist is able to instantly and effortlessly defeat their opponents. That isn’t to say that their powers are restricted purely to combat applications. The protagonist might be able to heal grievous injuries with the snap of their fingers or predict the future with perfect clarity. These protagonists are so far beyond everyone else that they are guaranteed to win any conflicts they get involved in.

            The issues with this set up are obvious. If there is no challenge or risk of failure, there can be no tension or drama. It doesn’t matter how interesting the villains are or how complex the situation is if the protagonist can just stroll up and instantly wreck everyone. I believe there to be a few ways that this type of weak story can be avoided.

            The simplest and probably most difficult method would be to make things funny. The outcome of a fight might be guaranteed but it is entirely possible to engage audience members by having the protagonist go about the fight in a humorous way. Although like all humor there are pitfalls. Personally, I am very tired of the joke of “ha ha the protagonist one shot that enemy who was acting really full of themselves”. It worked the first few times I saw the joke only for it to get stale really fast.

            A good example of effective use of humor from an overpowered protagonist would be the series “The Villainess is an SS+ Rank Adventurer”. The protagonist, Juliette, is a fun and whacky character who also happens to be the most powerful sword fighter in the world. Her methods of dealing with enemies have included: stepping to the side and tripping her opponent who’s currently moving faster than sound, using an immortal duck as a projectile weapon, and exorcising a ghost with a makeover. These are all accompanied by over-the-top inner monologues that are a delight to read. I find the fights really engaging in this series because I don’t know what whacky, funny, or clever way the protagonist defeats her opponents.

            Another way to make overpowered protagonists interesting would be to give them conflicts that can’t be resolved with their powers. Sure, perhaps the protagonist can disintegrate a mountain with their mind, but if their goal is to bring about tax reform that power is going to be of limited use. Overwhelming destructive power is probably really useful for seizing and maintaining power, but there is a limit to how much threats of death can be used to get what you want.

            A good example of a goal that an overpowered protagonist would struggle to accomplish is found in the book “Ivil Antagonist”. The protagonist, Ivil, is essentially a reality warping goddess who is considered the most dangerous individual in the solar system. She’s also Empress of Mars on top of that which gives her a whole heap of political and social power on top of the literal power she possesses. However, her goal for the book is to find true love. While she uses her vast powers to impress or help out her romantic interests, it’s made clear that this isn’t something she can do with the snap of her fingers. The protagonist herself understands that a good romantic relationship isn’t something that can be forced and her power actually makes it difficult for her romantic interests to not feel intimidated by her. She does use her powers to effortlessly crush any enemies she comes across, but that’s a secondary concern since destroying her enemies isn’t the protagonist’s main goal.

            Overpowered protagonists occupy a weird niche in fiction. They go against what is considered the best way to create a protagonist by making it exceedingly difficult for them to be challenged. My opinion is that writing an interesting story with an overpowered protagonist is very difficult and shouldn’t be attempted unless a writer is willing to put in the extra effort.

Romantic subplots are a common part of pretty much every genre. It doesn’t matter whether your main cast is exploring a derelict spaceship, fighting a dragon, or toppling a dystopia. There will likely be two or more characters with a budding romantic relationship between them. In general, I would say I like romantic subplots in stories, but there are a lot of pitfalls associated with them.

A problem I’ve run into with romantic subplots I’ve read is when the writer doesn’t build them properly. There’ll be a few lines where the characters mention they find each other physically attractive and the writer will call it a day. I’ve also seen it where the writer will decide that two characters should be in a romantic relationship purely because they spend a lot of time together and are of compatible genders and sexual orientations. The writer then fails to put in the leg work in to make the relationship believable. Love at first sight is a nice idea, but falling in love with someone based purely on their appearance is a poor foundation for a long term relationship.

It gets even worse when the much more interesting main plot is ground to a halt or derailed because the protagonist is dealing with relationship issues, or when the main cast acts like two characters have a bunch of chemistry even though they’ve had like two conversations that were mostly arguments. The romance will be something the writer tacked on regardless of whether it improves the story. This is especially bad when there’s destiny or time travel shenanigans which make the relationship guaranteed.

Good romantic subplots are ones where the chemistry between the characters is well developed. It’s not just that these characters think that the other is hot. Their feelings have grown over the course of working together to deal with the main plot. They learn to understand and appreciate each other’s strengths and weaknesses while also caring for one another. Their personalities complement each other in a way that makes them almost feel meant for each other and they’re both better off for having met.  

A good example of a well-done romantic subplot would be in the show The Owl House. The protagonist, Luz, starts out as enemies with the bully character Amity before becoming closer over time. This relationship works because they balance each other out and make each other’s lives better. Luz is outgoing and whacky while Amity is more straitlaced and organized. Luz helps Amity to tone down her overachiever tendencies and break away from her toxic mother. Amity, in turn, joins the main cast as a good guy and helps to take down the main villains. There are episodes focusing on their relationship and episodes where the relationship is more in the background while plot stuff is happening. It was, overall, a good way of mixing romance into the show that enhanced the main plot.

Overall, I think romantic subplots are a good way of adding an extra layer of conflict and complexity to the character interactions, but at the same time it is very easy to mess up. If a writer isn’t willing to put in the time and effort necessary to build a relationship between two characters then they should think long and hard about whether a romantic subplot is even necessary. Not all stories need romance to be interesting.