Don’t You Like Me - Chapter Ch23.3 - Don’t You Like Me?

“There is no god, only the echo of our fears, bound together in a symphony of false hope, woven to make this endless cycle of pain bearable... But I refuse to be just another note in their song. I will not be silenced to protect the gate you so desperately uphold. I don’t care for the blind masses; they are but shadows, moving without purpose. If I cannot run, I will walk. If I cannot walk, I will crawl. If I cannot crawl, I will roll. And if all that remains of me is a severed head, then I will still glare at you with the scorn of the relentless.”...In a world where Hunters fight to keep humanity safe from monstrous invasions, Timothy Walter is nothing more than an E-rank weakling, expendable, powerless, and barely surviving.That changes when a forgotten dungeon forces him into a deadly trial, awakening ancient rulers from across races.Bound to the weakest among them, he inherits a power unlike any other: “King Player.”Now, with a system that defies all logic, Timothy must carve his path, facing enemies both human and monstrous, as he ascends from the lowest depths to claim a throne none believed he could reach.

In the wizard world, the mysterious magic cube gave Lin Suo the ability to fuse all things.However, sometimes the recipe was a bit strange. The Evil God would shake his head when he looked at it.Horse corpse x 2 + stone + wood + clay + tent cloth = Double Horse Chariot.Octopus corpse + flower of enlightenment + black goat corpse = octopus flower with black hair?Skeleton + Bloodthirsty Vine + Vampire Eyeball = Thorny Creature Eyeball???Lin Suo: As long as there are corpses in the recipe, it will definitely make the Evil God frown.

A slime randomly falls into existence. Sapient and born with the ability to recreate parts of the things it preys upon, the highly confused drop of primordial soup decides that the only real thing it can do is become the being at the top of the food chain. A task of longevity in the leaves of the Omniverse.

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.”