Chaos' Heir - Chapter 852 Arm

“Yan,” the protagonist, was brainwashed by the emperor and lived as his puppet. After finding out he was being played by the emperor, he planned to seek revenge, but collapsed due to the emperor’s might. He thought he had died, but when he woke up, he realized he had regressed to the time when he was a recruit. Whether to seek revenge on the emperor or to find his family. The choice lay in his hands.

In a world where magic is a science, Siobhan is a genius.But even geniuses need schooling.When Siobhan stumbled into the theft of a priceless magical book, she thought her dreams of becoming the world's most powerful sorcerer were destroyed.But then a mysterious spell changed her life forever...Siobhan is now wearing the body of a strange man and has a new identity—Sebastien. With a new chance for a new start, she allies herself with a local gang—secretly a revolutionary party funding itself through crime. Now, she is bound by vow to repay them in magic and favors. But as Sebastien's reputation begins to bloom, and Siobhan's old enemies still lurk in the shadows, she quickly realizes that the secrets of this world are deeper and darker than she ever could have imagined.Forced to juggle the two sides of her double life, Siobhan is determined to uncover the truth and take control of the name they gave her - The Raven Queen.

I can see ghosts. Even the ghosts inside games. But then…”Ah! Not there, over that way! My family heirloom is hidden there.” The ghosts in the game keep revealing hidden pieces to me.

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”